Operation: Safekeeping
by LodestarJumper
Summary: After the events of Homecoming, Peter attempts to deal with the trauma of what happened with little success. Everything is thrown into further chaos, however, after Tony is accused of treason. With his suits destroyed, trust fraying, and a hunt rising for the multi-billionaire, Tony goes to the only person he can think of for help: Peter Parker. (Father/Son) No slash, no smut
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello! =D Thank you for taking a look at this story, hopefully you enjoy it! I absolutely adore father/son stories and the relationship between Tony and Peter is adorable.**

 **Please offer any feedback you may have! =D**

 **Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors!**

 **Rated for: Minor violence, injuries, anxiety, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, bullying, panic attacks, paranoia on my part, and the fact that it's not based around humor. Language is all K. No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest.**

 **For your information, this cross-posted on Archive of Our Own under the pen name of "GalaxyThreads". :)**

 **Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)**

 **Updated on: March 26, 2019**

* * *

Chapter One:

He's not going to bat away her hand. No. He's _not._ He's fifteen, not five. It doesn't hurt _that much._

Oh, man. No, _it hurts that much._

Peter lets out a hiss of pain between his clenched jaw, trying desperately not to jerk backwards, then smack his aunt's hand away and burrow under blankets, refusing to come out into the light for several more days. His instincts are screaming at him to, and Peter's not to ardent on trying to do otherwise. _Stop poking it._

 _Stop._

 _Stop touching._

Peter curls his hands into fists instead of smacking at her hand, digging his nails into his palms and nearly winces at the harsh pressure against his skin, despite the thick fabric of the Spider-Man suit offering a barrier. This is fine. He's fine. It's all normal. (It will be gone tomorrow). Peter presses his lips together tightly and flicks his gaze up towards the ceiling to distract himself.

Note to self: the next mugger who picks up a trash-can lid, _take seriously._

Peter bites heavily at his inner cheek to withhold yet _another_ groan that threatens to escape his lips. He's released out so many tonight he's starting to grate on _his own_ nerves, but the pain really isn't something to be taken lightly; admittedly (though he wouldn't breathe a _word_ of it to May), he's starting to see double in his right eye...and he _still_ has that Spanish and math homework to complete. And...well crap. The assignments shouldn't be _too_ hard so long as he can focus on anything beyond how badly his head and ribs hurt.

Which is much easier said than done.

To be frank, the bruised ribs are a lot more endurable than when he snapped his ankle a few weeks ago after being thrown through a second story building. It healed in a little less than five days, but he was hobbling around on one foot for a majority of them. It wasn't pleasant, mostly just painful. May hadn't been impressed, but she rarely is when he comes home looking like a piñata children have been having a go at for a while.

Ugh.

Piñata.

Spanish.

And, ergo, homework.

He should really start doing his homework _before_ he leaves instead of around three AM, because no one does good work when they're half asleep, but it's the only time he has _to_ do it. College is going to be a nightmare. Period. No backsies. You know, if he doesn't die trying to get there. Which, given his current record, is starting to become a real possibility.

Peter releases his right fist staring ahead at the bland, uninteresting wall, because he _needs to focus on something else._ His right eye's vision is slightly blurry and the skin probably resembles that of a child trying to paint a storm cloud: Black, blue, and purple all over. It's really not _his_ fault, it's not like he _asked_ for the lid to be thrown at his face, it just sort of happened.

Okay, so antagonizing the mugger probably hadn't helped the situation, but he just can't seem to _shut up_ when he has the mask on. He just blabs and blabs and _blabbers on about nothing._ He's really not an idiot—he's just _also_ very good at making quips that induce the urge in people to strangle him. Or rip out his tongue. On one memorable occasion, both.

 _Annnd,_ he forgot that Ned asked to bring him to bring his missed homework yesterday when he forgot after school. Ned has had one of the worst colds to date and has been very querulous about it. Ned _rarely_ gets sick, and this happening has not been his favorite thing. Peter's been assigned with delivering him his homework and as a personal endeavor, notes from class. It's all he has _time_ for, otherwise he would be visiting Ned and giving him sick soup and sick friendship games and probably a Star Wars binge. As it is, he's only been dropping off homework and it sort of slipped his mind to deliver it. Rats. It's the making of a long day and it's only three-forty-seven AM.

Pain sparks through his face suddenly, and Peter smacks the hand away subconsciously drawing his brain into the present with a high-pitched, fairly unmanly yelp of " _o_ _w!"._

May bites her bottom lip from her position next to him, and he can see her trying to hold back an angry (but probably concerned) retort. "Peter," she sighs instead. When the first letter rolls off her tongue he can tell he's in trouble. How do adults manage to _do_ that without fail? They can say names in such a way that conveys _every_ drop of disappointed resentment in them. Urgh. He doesn't want to deal with this.

His head is a mess, he could've gotten ran over by a steamroller and the pain would have been equal. _Everything_ hurts, but his ribs and head are a particular rouse of pain. They must be in a competition to see who can make him cry out first. Which is stupid. But nonetheless, so far his ribs are winning.

May raises her hand and gently grabs his chin, tilting his head back and forth as she stares at his face in concern. Through his partially blurry vision he can see her frown deepen. He thinks she's looking at his pupils for signs of a concussion, but he's not sure. Did he mention that his vision is blurry to her? Um...no. No he didn't. With the headache pulsing in his brain it's hard to really remember anything. Ooh, school is going to be fun.

 _Whoopee._

May rises to her feet without a word, moving towards the kitchen and Peter twists slightly to follow her with his sight from the couch. He wishes she would _say_ something. Her silent disappointment is worse than her yelling at him. He can _handle_ her yelling, this...this silence makes him _sick._ He _knows_ he's in trouble. They agreed after May caught him in the suit two months ago that he needs to be back by midnight every night and he blew it tonight. Because for the previous eight months, he was freelance. He doesn't know how to wrap around a schedule.

And does it matter? He isn't going to sleep anyway. He'll just spend the whole night turned towards the door refusing to look at the ceiling because it will remind him of being crushed and how he had a moment to look up before there was nothing but choking blackness and panic and the realization that _he was going to die and—_

Physically? He healed in a week. Barely a few faint scars from the collapse.

The only proof that it _happened._

He didn't tell anyone.

How _could_ he?

May's barely tolerating this as it is, if she knew _half_ of what he sustained before Homecoming...he's been a mess since the collapse. Spider-Man hasn't changed, the one constant in his life, but Peter...Peter's a wreck. He can't sleep, can't focus, and his grades have slipped.

May and he agreed that school came first, before Spider-Man.

At least B's.

Peter's managed to keep it in that range, but the C's he's achieved have not been impressive. He really should have _read_ the book for English, but he didn't have time. Not between Spider-Man and everything else.

Ned's helped a lot, he hasn't treated Peter any differently beyond insisting that Peter include him on the slightly larger missions so he can be the "man in the chair". It drove him a little crazy at first, so used to being solo, but it doesn't bother him as much anymore. Between Karen and Ned, Peter has felt a little less alone during patrols. It's...nice.

May returns to the couch, ice pack in hand and sits beside him once more before handing the packet to him. Peter gives a small nod in thanks, trying to keep his swirling head from spinning to rapidly before he presses the cloth-covered ice against his face. Relief washes across the bruise immediately and Peter heaves out a relieved breath.

Now if he could only get his ribs to stop screaming at him, that would be great. In all honesty, he _really_ should have listened to Karen's suggestion and let her guide him home after the mugger threw the lid at his face like some sort of murderous frisbee (it _stung._ He now has a great deal of sympathy for victims of Captain America), but he didn't listen. Because he's an idiot. And not _only_ is he an idiot, he's a tired idiot, too; and one, judging by his aunt's expression, who is grounded for the next week or so.

He barely represses a groan.

And the day keeps getting better.

Peter digs his fingers into the ice. Maybe he can convince May they need to go to bed and they can have the conversation that Peter very much _does not_ want to have tomorrow. Well, on a technical scale, later today. Probably not, but it's nice to daydream about.

His aunt slowly twists so she and Peter are looking eye-to-eye and he is suddenly aware how much he misses the depth both eyes offer him. Wandering around with only one eye must be awful, he wouldn't make a good pirate and— _Peter._

 _Focus._

May's still not talking, she's mad. Or at least disappointed. Peter can almost feel both emotions waving off of her. His fault. He should have called. Instead, his aunt stayed up half the night waiting for him.

In his defense, his phone _was_ dead, but in May's, Karen is just as capable of calling as his cell. He just...he didn't want her to demand he come home. Yesterday hadn't been an amazing day: He barely scraped a B on his science test, Ned was _still_ sick, MJ was out of town on family business, and Flash was being a brat. More so than usual.

Is she going to start? He really just wants to go to bed and sleep for the next few years. But he needs to get his homework done and if he starts now he should be able to get about half an hour to forty minutes in of some nice REM's before he needs to leave for school. Not optimal, but it's better than last night.

"Peter," May finally begins drumming her fingers across the top of her knee, her brown hair framing her face tiredly. Peter shifts his gaze from the bookshelf with the small TV balanced on it to his aunt. She clasps her hands together, leans forward biting her lip slightly, and Peter studies her carefully.

He really hates making her worry, it's a gnawing guilt that doesn't dissipate no matter how many times he breaks her rules or forgets to call. Ever since Ben died, May's paid far more attention to him than she really did before—they were never _strangers,_ but he was closer to his uncle when Ben was alive. Then Ben was dead, and he and May had to learn how to work with each other. It's like learning a foreign language and both of them are still rusty.

May was so fragile after Ben, and Peter _hates_ adding to the pressure that she faces.

He wants to take care of her, and feels weirdly sick when he doesn't.

May finally looks back at him, "Peter, I know that the last couple months have been hard for you," she starts gently. Peter barely bites back a groan and instead flexes his toes, trying to ease the pain. Joy, a heart-to-heart. He _really_ doesn't have time for this. He still has the homework and needs to text Ned an apology, then study for a history test he has on Friday. It's a little past the middle of quarter two, and all his teachers decided it would be a good idea to get a test in before winter break.

He doesn't want to talk feelings right now because he really doesn't have anything nice to say, and he's _going_ to say something stupid. Peter lets out a long mental sigh. His aunt is still talking, but Peter's not trying _super_ hard to understand what she's saying. Rude, but he can't _focus._ Pain keeps hindering it. Her voice is more like a motto tone in the background that he hears, but doesn't process.

What was the Spanish assignment anyway? Peter scrambles to put together what he last heard his teacher talking about. Something about colors...or a recipe. Wasn't it something with baking? He was supposed to make a recipe in Spanish. Yeah...okay, _maybe_. It sounds vaguely familiar.

"Peter?" May stops mid sentence and the sudden quiet grasps his attention. He looks up at her and hums in response. "You're not listening, are you?"

Peter winces.

No.

He's still not.

He mentally gives himself a kick and digs his fingers further into his palms. She's trying to look out for him, she wrapped the worst of his cuts and eye, stayed up till almost _four_ for him, and he can't even give her the decency of listening to her? _Rude, ungrateful, needy—_

May gives a heavy sigh, "Listen, I _know_ you want to continue with this...hero-thing, but you can't keep jumping curfew. It's not a _suggestion_ , Peter, I need you to understand this. You were doing so well when we started, but the last few weeks…" she trails and shakes her head slightly, "I want to make sure you're okay, and you _need_ the sleep. Midnight. That's what we agreed on. I'm not going to let you keep staying out all night anymore." She says firmly. Peter closes his eyes and tilts his head back in frustration.

He shouldn't be expecting anything different.

 _He shouldn't._

But he was hoping...

Maybe she would...

If he's not saving lives and stopping crime, he's up all night long with the sound of his own strangled gasps and screams for help echoing in his ears with the building creaking and groaning around him as the dust settles in the air. And if it's not the building, it's Vulture's claws sinking into his skin or being tossed from the Quinjet onto the burning beach below with the roar of the fire burning in his ears and—

If he's Spider-Man, he's doing _something_ beyond being haunted by himself.

Mr. Stark was right, he _wasn't_ ready for this. But he did it anyway. Got himself high up on Mr. Stark's list of respect, which he guesses he should be proud of, but he isn't. ( _How can he be!?)._ When Mr. Stark offered him a position on the Avengers all he could see was the flames licking against the beach and the crumbling pressure against his chest and the realization that if he _did_ join, it would be that over and over again. He panicked and said no, his brain working into overdrive for an excuse that wouldn't offend Mr. Stark. What he said is true, he'd rather be a friendly neighborhood web-slinger than an Avenger. All the same though, Peter really isn't sure if he regrets his decision; somewhere, yes, but a large majority of him still screams no. ( _Ungrateful, stupid—)_

"You're also grounded for a week." May's voice announces. He should probably feel indignant, but all he _does_ feel is strangely numb. And maybe a little annoyed. He jumped the boat far too many times in the last two weeks to not be. Peter lifts his eye tiredly towards his aunt. She pushes her glasses up her nose. "Dishes, every day. You're also going to do any other chore I can think of."

 _Dishes?_

He can handle dishes. And chores without a problem.

If she'd declared that he was going to sleep more, then he'd be concerned and frustrated. Oh, gosh, he's so _tired,_ but he knows he won't sleep. Maybe he should just accept the fact that he's never going to be able to work and function like a normal human being anymore. Most of them sleep during the night without any problems. Nope, not him with his shaking hands and thumping heart and—

"'Kay." He mumbles halfheartedly in response. His voice doesn't sound angry, just...worn out. May rises to her feet and lets out a long suffering sigh that only a parent who's dealt with far to much of a trouble child's crap can give.

Peter curls in further into himself.

"Get some sleep, Peter." She commands tiredly before turning to leave, flicking off the main light to the living room.

Sleep? He won't sleep. At least now he has an actual excuse beyond his mind. His ribs hurt to much to lay down or really _breathe_ with, and he just wants it to stop because it stings and the—Wait! He doesn't want May to leave yet. It's dark in here and he needs her voice to know that he's not alone in here—

Peter jerks his head up and stares at her back for a moment his tongue moving faster than his brain can process. "Aunt May!" He calls. She pauses and turns to look at him. His jaw hangs for a moment as he attempts to come up with something discernible. He swallows his stupid fear and corrects himself before the silence can drag more than normal. "Thank you."

May raises an eyebrow and studies him skeptically, "You know, when I ground you, you aren't supposed to be _happy_ about it."

His jaw tenses.

He's not. In the slightest, in fact the whole "grounding" process makes him want to pound his head against the nearest wall in frustration, but he doesn't. He releases his tongue from its death hold and gives a slight shrug and his hand slams against his ribcage, hidden from her view, as a fiery sting ripples through his chest. His eye brims wet and he blinks back the pain. He should probably get someone else besides himself to look over it, but he's already given his aunt enough grief and he should just shut his whiny trap shut then deal with it on his own.

He heaves out a quiet, calming breath.

"Not about that." Peter finally says. May's features soften.

"You're welcome." She responds before walking out of the room, then down the hall disappearing from his sight. As soon as he hears her door close he lets out a long hiss of pain and wraps a hand around his ribcage. That is going to leave a mark. A big, purple and black one.

Rising to his feet unsteadily, Peter grips the armrest of the couch as the world spins on its own for a moment. Taking in a deep breath, he tosses the ice pack onto the table—to tired to put it away properly—and turns towards the hallway. Homework, then sleep. Two agendas. He can do that. Right. Okay.

Actually, Peter glances down at himself; alright, maybe changing into some clothes should be at the top of his priorities list. He resists the urge to moan by biting sharply on his teeth, then tumbles down the hall like he's never been attune to gravity in his life barely making it down the hall quietly.

He rams his toe against a border and hisses out a curse, resisting the urge to hobble and hop up and down in pain solely because his ribs scream _no._ Even after three months, the layout of the apartment is still unfamiliar to him. He and May moved some time after Germany incident because May couldn't afford to hold the rent for their previous abode down. The solution presented itself when May was talking to their neighbors (apologizing for the smoke alarm that went off in multiple apartments at some form of dinner she cooked) and realized that one of them is getting re-married. The neighbor and her husband-to-be wanted a larger space for the children coming from both families. They switched apartments so they could have the space and May could pay the bills.

It's been weeks, but Peter grew up in the other apartment. His feet are not used to the navigation of this one. Hence: his toe.

It's throbbing, but ignorable, so he stumbles towards his room, completing the trek down the hall with far more effort than it probably should have taken.

He rips open the door softly and shuts it behind him, leaning against the wood in his exhaustion. He wants to stay here. Would it be socially acceptable for him to fall asleep standing up like this? His ribs flare in discomfort and Peter resists the urge to backtalk them, biting at his tongue. It's three in the—Peter flicks his gaze up, it's _four_ in the morning, no one wants to here his soliloquy.

Grumbling a few choice words under his breath towards the injury anyway, Peter elbows on the light before turning to his closet and grabbing the first pair of clothing that isn't obnoxiously colored that he sees. He's not going to sleep for very long anyway, so it won't hurt to get dressed right now.

Peter presses the spider against his chest and the Spider-Man suit releases, the slight pressure against his chest easing. He blows out a shallow breath then carefully climbs out of the material. He winces when his knee accidentally bumps his chest, but refuses to look at his ribcage. He doesn't want to know what the damage is. If he'd had both his eyes it wouldn't have happened. Unfortunately, the side of the building was a lot closer than he thought and his left side rammed against the hard corner. He'd barely managed to catch himself on the side before he went _splat_ on the pavement below.

Peter changes his clothing slowly, but before he pulls his deep purple shirt over his head completely, he chances a glance towards his chest. He grimaces, chewing on his lower lip. The upper half of his left side is black and blue with strange yellow lightning-like fragments spreading across his stomach. The bruising is as ugly as it is hypnotizing and it takes some effort to look away. He'd heard the snap of the bones and he's really not...he _knows_ that doctors can't do much for broken ribs beyond offer their condolences. He has his enhanced healing anyway. He'll be fine tomorrow. Probably.

Peter ignores the strange urge to poke the bruise then carefully pulls the shirt over the wound and tugs on a jacket in an attempt to keep warm. He sighs quietly and turns to his desk where the cursed homework is still awaiting. He presses a hand against his chest in a slight effort to support it, but his fingers cause firey pain to shoot across his body.

Peter hisses loudly and attempts to tug his hand away, but realizes that his fingers are stuck to the material. Peter attempts to shake it off, but his fingers are releasing. Stupid spider part of his—

 _Relax._

 _Breathe._

Peter exhales sharply and takes in several more deep breaths, withholding what winces he can as he slowly calms. A minute later, he pulls his hand away from the fabric of his shirt and moves to the desk, trying to blink back tears of frustration.

Without access to a kitchen, the Spanish assignment he can't complete right now. It's not really due until Friday, so he's not too worried. Math, however, he _can_ complete. Then he should study for the history exam and he _still_ needs to text Ned and apology. Letting out a long breath from his nose, Peter turns to pull his backpack onto the desk to find his homework.

After this is done, then he can sleep.

000o000

Peter awakens to his buzzing alarm, causing his spider sense to ring in his head like an open tab on the internet that's having trouble loading. Peter smacks the alarm his vision blurring and he sees double for a moment. His eye feels better today, but the headache is still present. He stares at the wall for a long second before blowing out a breath and wincing sharply when his ribs protest.

Ow.

 _Ow._

They do not feel better this morning. Worse. They feel _worse._ He rests a hand against them and hisses out a pained breath. His healing factor will kick in sometime, this pain wont be forever. He'll be fine tomorrow. Besides, school is just seven hours. Then he can come home and grab a few more winks before heading out for patrol. He inhales deeply, then exhales sharp and shallowly.

 _Alright. You can do this Pete, it's only a few hours of listening to adults drone about subjects they don't really care about._

 _Yep._

 _Not unappealing at all._

Peter forces himself to move forward, grabs his shoes, then stuff his finished homework into his backpack. It probably won't get above a C, but he'll be grateful if it's anything about a D. It's done and that's all that matters. Peter drags his feet from his room and saunters down the hall like a half-dead zombie. After a quick goodbye to his aunt, Peter leaves the apartment for school.

000o000

After barely making it to lunch, Peter is quietly enjoying trying to work up an appetite in the cafeteria when Flash slams the lunch tray onto the opposite of Peter at the table and takes a seat, smirking lightly. Peter looks up from the salad he's flicking across the plate with his fork and can't quite hide the scowl that slips over his features.

"Enjoying your morning, Parker?" Flash questions. The phrase is supposed to be polite, but the tone is sharp.

Peter tugs his sleeves edge over his palms, "Hi, Flash." He greets in turn, then corrects halfheartedly: "It's afternoon."

Flash sneers. "You fell asleep twice in chemistry," he points out, his voice a little to gleeful, "I thought you were confused."

Funny.

Flash takes a bite out of his apple, chewing loudly and Peter tightens his grip on the fork. Usually human noises like that don't bother him, but his spider-senses have been heightened to a painful level all day. Peter blows out a calming breath and stares at him for a moment, "Why are you here?"

Flash raises an eyebrow, "I'm enrolled in Midtown High."

"At the table," Peter corrects himself, biting at his tongue to keep his face from flushing _(always saying such stupid things—_ ), "only Ned and MJ sit here."

Flash gives a mirthful smirk, "Missing your nerd group?"

 _Yes._

Peter's fingers tighten sharply, "Don't let MJ hear you say that."

"Why?" Flash challenges, "I'm not afraid of her."

Peter stares at him for a second, flabbergasted. "You _should_ be. She's the captain of decathlon, remember?"

Flash's expression narrows and he swallows noisily, "Yeah, Parker, I know. She's got a soft spot for ditchers."

Peter's jaw tightens for a second and he quietly wishes that MJ or Ned were here. The anxiety is swirling in his stomach, refusing to relent, and Peter isn't sure how to make it go away. So, instead, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, even if he has no idea _why_ he said it: "She doesn't have a soft spot for anyone."

Flash's eyebrows lift and his mouth opens to respond, but he doesn't get a single syllable out. A girl scampers up beside them, her eyes streaming with a wet anxiety. " _Flaaash_!" She cries in a high-pitched wail, grabbing at his arm. It's one of the cheerleaders, Peter notes distantly. He's not sure how he knows that because it's winter and Midtown hasn't had a sports game in weeks. But nonetheless, the girl rattles Flash's arm desperately, "Have you _seen_ this!?"

"What?" Flash questions, looking up at her. His expression has softened some of it's dislike.

" _This!"_ The girl insists, flipping her phone at for him to stare at. The back is to Peter, so he can't see whatever it is the two are staring at, but it doesn't look like anything good. Flash's face drains of color and he flicks a quick glance up towards Peter, then the cheerleader.

"That has to be false."

" _It's not!"_ The girl ululates.

"It has to be." Flash's voice is gaining desperation, "What are you on, Buzzfeed?"

The girl shoots him a sharp look, " _No_! It's all over social media and the news! You can find it _anywhere!_ CBS, BBC, ABC, New York Times—"

"What's the problem?" Peter questions, curiosity at last gaining the better of him. The cheerleader looks up at him with wide blue eyes hidden behind her blonde bangs. Her stare holds frustration and she tilts her nose up in preeminent before she moves towards him and flips the screen of her glittery-covered phone and holds it steady for him to read. A big, black headline greets his eyes:

 _"World-Known Avenger Tony Stark Proven Terrorist"._

 _What?_

 _That's—_

 _What!?_

His stomach jolts, a cold feeling taking its place.

He looks up at the cheerleader he can't remember the name of for the life of him. "T-t-that can't be true." Peter stumbles out, "He...he _wouldn't…"_

Flash looks up at him, "Sure and you _know_ this because you're all buddy-buddy with him, right?"

A flare of anger spikes through him, "Mr. Stark _wouldn't_ commit treason—he's an Avenger!"

"So!?" The cheerleader cries, "That means nothing! You want proof? Here, watch this!" She flicks her screen up again and plays a news clipping, jumping to the portion that she wants. Flash shifts across the table to lean over Peter's shoulder and the sensation makes him uncomfortable, but he quickly forgets it when the woman begins to speak:

"...And multi-billionaire, Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man is missing in action after a skilled hacker, under the direction of General Thaddeus Ross, hacked into his personal files. He had recently declined an important change to the Accords, and per their instruction, General Ross was given permission to search Mr. Stark's private files to see what he was hiding. What they found was surprising, Mr. Stark has been shipping out weapons to well known terrorist groups all over the world for since he became Iron Man."

... _What?_

No.

He wouldn't.

He just—

 _That's not Tony._

There's just _no way_. Mr. Stark Stark is a _good man_ , weird, snarky, and sarcastic, but not a man of treason. This isn't pragmatic. It's—

He and Peter have talked more since the Vulture incident and Peter can't think of him as _evil_. Mr. Stark's like his...it just doesn't make sense. He couldn't...he _wouldn't…_

 _...Right?_ How well does he even _know_ Mr. Stark? He's only been on speaking terms with him for less than three months.

"In 2008, Mr. Stark went missing for three months; though few details had been given to the public, it seems the reason why was because the man had been working personally on a super weapon with a group known as the Ten Rings with enough power to take out a city. He was found in the desert, not far from a cave of slaughtered bodies. Proof of his desire for blood, officials report.

"When questioned about the decision to hack into the files, General Thaddeus Ross reports: "Captain America's disappearance has always been linked with Stark, the group may be fractured, but that doesn't stop them. The proposal Stark refused to sign was the agreement that the Avengers would search for the rest of the group and bring them to justice. Given this, I had my suspicions". If not for the general's insight, we would all be unaware of the danger lurking right in the middle of the city."

Peter's eyes are as wide as they can go and he can feel his breaths getting shorter.

No, no, no, no, no.

It has to be a lie. It has to be a lie. _It has to be._

 _Please, please, please..._

"...Though Mr. Stark mysteriously disappeared last night after the discovery, his wife, Virginia "Pepper" Stark has said that, "You're all either incredibly stupid or just blind. Tony wouldn't make any more weapons after what happened to him in 2008. I can personally confirm that he hasn't been anywhere _near_ a terrorist group since his capture _unless_ it was with the Avengers", but the information Ross has brought up disproves her words—strongly. Mr. Stark is a wanted man and the government is giving twenty-five thousand grand to anyone who can bring him in within the next seven days. Although General Ross has destroyed the Iron Man suits through careful planning and maneuvers, but the multi-billionaire could still be dangerous. Caution is strongly advised until the criminal can be located. Anyone with any information on the whereabouts of Mr. Stark has been requested to give it to General Ross through contact information located below. A man by the name of Harold Spencer lit his kitchen on fire today—"

The cheerleader pulls her hand back and Peter feels his breath hiss out in a sharp gasp. His hands are shaking and everything is suddenly too _loud_ and _bright._ He wants to plug his ears and squeeze his eyes shut. This is all a bad dream, he's going to wake up soon because there is _no way_ that Mr. Stark would…

 _Tony Stark is a wanted man..._

Mr. Stark lied to the world.

 _...the government is giving twenty five thousand..._

Mr. Stark lied to the Avengers.

... _the billionaire could still be dangerous..._

Mr. Stark lied to _him._

 _...caution is strongly advised..._

And Peter was stupid enough to believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks for your favs/follows/reviews! You're all amazing! =D =D**

 **Onto chapter two!**

 **Edited April 4th, 2019**

* * *

Chapter Two:

" _This is the voicemail of Happy Hogan. Leave a message."_

"Hey, Happy, this is Peter...Peter Parker. Again. Call me back when you get this."

No answer. There's _still_ no answer. Is Happy ignoring him? Is he mad? Did Peter do something to offend him? Did he— _Is Mr. Stark guilty, and they're too busy trying to keep him out of the hands of the law to contact him? Do they not want him to—?_

No.

 _No._

 _That's not it._ It's not. Happy's just being annoying on purpose. Punishment for how much Peter bothered him before homecoming. Vindictive. That's _it._ Nothing more nothing less. _Mr. Stark isn't—_

Peter pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call, trying desperately to stuff down anxiety so furious it threatens to consume his chest and claw out through his throat. He's worried that if he opens his mouth all that's going to come out properly is a long, guttural _yell._ He presses his tongue between his teeth and clenches his hands into fists.

It's been _three_ days.

Three days since the report.

Since Mr. Stark disappeared.

And more then a week since he heard from _any_ of S.I..

Is it _possible_ to be this anxious and not self combust? On and on these thoughts swirl in his head, ugly, brutal, and pounding and _Peter can't take it anymore._ No one has a word on the whereabouts of Mr. Stark, the man has complete and utterly vanished; and to be frank, Peter's not expecting anything else. He's an Avenger, their missions didn't always involve them publicly and loudly destroying buildings.

Stealth was a thing.

And it is now.

False leads and dead ends.

And Peter doesn't understand _why._ If Mr. Stark wasn't guilty...wouldn't he have come forward and publicly denied what General Ross declared? Why hasn't he just _answered!?_ Mr. Stark couldn't have done it. He just— _he wouldn't._ It doesn't make sense, and no matter how much Peter tries to wrap his head around the idea there's just so many gaps to the puzzle that he can't even stuff a few pieces together without it looking awkward. Jumbled.

Peter refuses to accept the story. ( _But should he? Is he just—)_ If the man _did_ manage to sneak terrorists weapons for the last few years, he has done an _incredible_ job of hiding it. Beyond admirable. He was working toe-to-toe with the _Avengers_ and they—are being hunted for treason. Like Mr. Stark.

 _Oh gosh._

 _Stop._

Peter purses his lips and looks up at the entrance to Midtown High, phone clutched so tightly that his knuckles are starting to turn a pale white. He _really_ doesn't want to go to school today, he wants to track down Happy, and then rattle the man back and forth demanding answers on _why he's refusing to pick up his phone._

After homecoming they _agreed_ that Peter would only text or call him if it was pressing and _Happy would respond._ Peter hasn't had to call on it since they made the agreement. He hasn't had anything to _ask_ about.

Peter wants to grab at his hair and childishly pout that "it's not fair!". He wants to know the answers; the actual _truth,_ and where Mr. Stark is, but Happy is refusing to talk to him. Again. This isn't even mildly amusing.

Peter drags his feet forward with far more effort than what should be necessary, carrying himself towards the large building. The wind is blasting into his face with the force of a small blizzard, bitter and freezing, and Peter tucks his head into his chest staring at his feet. Dozens of students are shuffling around him looking just as willing to be here as he feels.

Maybe he can fake a sick day. He doesn't _feel_ well, but it's not _physically_.

That isn't enough to be an actual excuse. It never _is._

May will have his head if he does, though, and she's already angry enough with him. _Go. Be. Productive._ Peter shoves his hands into his pockets, dropping the phone from his left hand into the space, and stares at his breath puffing around his nose like a small cloud. He hates winter. Most people love the cold and making snowmen, with hot chocolate, ice skating, and sledding, but Peter? Nope. He's always had a sensitivity to extreme weather, and it's only gotten worse after his spiderbite. He's never warm anymore.

His uncle used to think the sensitivity was hilarious and force Peter to go out in the snow so he could throw frozen dust and water at his face and pummel him with snow balls until May came out and yelled at both of them to stop. Ben would usually hit her with a snowball after that.

Uncle Ben would've loved the snow this year. It's deeper than recently and the weather has yet to let the sun peak through the clouds for two weeks. But he's not here, he hasn't been for a long time. Peter bites his lower lip and releases a heavy sigh. He's stopped moving. He really needs to get into the school building and begin the hours of suffering, but he just can't get his feet to _move._ Uncle Ben hasn't even been dead for a year yet. Closer to eleven months.

It feels like it's been much, much longer.

His spider sense flares suddenly and Peter whirls around, his nerves tensing. What is it? An attacker? Has he been compromised has—his thoughts come to a halt as Ned rushes up to him, panting with his phone in hand, the screen open.

His spider sense needs to _stop._

It's been buzzing for days without stopping and Peter wants to strangle it. _Ned is not an enemy._ Isn't that all the sense is good for, anyway? Detecting people who want to kill him or throw something at his face? Stupid.

Ned comes to halt and grabs Peter's shoulder as he hisses out breaths, raising up the phone to Peter's eye line, "Have...you...seen….this?" He gasps out. Ned sounds like he ran over fifteen miles without stopping or grabbing water, and looks pretty similar. Probably his cold. Peter hasn't seen Ned this sick since...yeah, he hasn't seen Ned this sick before. The man has an immune system to rival Asgardian's.

The phone. Right. Probably just a new Lego set that came out that Ned wants to buy. Peter drags his attention away from Ned's red face and grabs the phone from his friend's hand, squinting at the small letters. He hasn't had any problems with his eyesight since before the spider bite, but the lid-to-the-face-thing really hadn't helped his right eye much. It's far better than it was on Thursday night when he got hit, though. It doesn't even look black anymore. His ribs are a different story completely, but Peter's gotten pretty good at ignoring certain body parts when he needs to.

Peter's brain finally translates the letters from unidentifiable squiggles to a single headline: " _Tony Stark: Villain in Disguise"._

Peter's spine stiffens considerably, and his ribs give a pulsing ache in protest. He manages to hold back a wince, but he can't quite pull his eyes away from the headline because it's in such _big_ letters and air is suddenly hard to grasp because all he can see is the sentence over and over and over and— _Yes. He's seen it._

It's all he can think about.

Someone's calling his name. Why? Has he done something wrong?

 _Mr. Stark…_

He didn't do it.

He _didn't._

Peter echoes the words, grasping onto them, because if he doesn't he's going to sink and he's already waist deep in water. Something grabs his right shoulder and his enhanced senses flinch heavily at the contact. Peter drags himself back to reality, blinking several times. His ears are still ringing and fogging, but he can see Ned's face. He's talking rapidly looking guilty, yet panicked.

But he's _there._

Alive.

 _Breathe._

"...Peter! _Peter!?_ Oh gosh, I-I honestly didn't mean for this to—Peter! Please _answer!"_

Everything returns at once, and he gasps for breath he didn't realize he was holding. Ned. Yard. School. Ned visibly sighs in relief and Peter looks up, glancing at the mostly student-free space around them. Oh man, May is going to throttle him if he's late to any more classes and he really doesn't want to deal with that.

Peter grabs Ned's wrist in a quick, fluid movement, and then tugs his fellow teen forward, dragging them both towards the school's doors. Ned gives a small squeak of surprise before quickly scrambling to match his pace. As they reach the steps, Ned glances over at Peter his expression oddly distressed. Peter spares him a glance, but stops dead at the question that slips from Ned's lips: "Is it true?"

Yes—no, he doesn't know! If he did, does Ned seriously think that he'd _be_ here? He doesn't _want_ it to be true any more than he wants Earth to stop rotating around the sun. But honestly, he can't make it be any less true than more just because he _wants_ it to be.

Peter turns to look at Ned's face. The darker haired boy's eyebrows are knit together worriedly, and the distress speaks volumes across his face. Peter's mouth feels oddly dry as he opens it to respond, "No."

Yes?

Gah!

Peter just—he _doesn't know_. (Maybe he doesn't _want_ to).

Peter walks forward before Ned can come up with an answer and throws open the doors to the school. The building smells as it always does: sweaty socks, faint perfume, and severe bleach. It doesn't seem fair: that it's still the same even though everything's changed for him. It should be different, like everything else is now.

 _How pathetic._

"Peter!" Ned calls behind him and Peter _feels_ the stab of guilt in his stomach as it rushes through him. Ned still doesn't look a hundred percent, but because Peter is an anxious truck TM, Ned has to scramble after him everywhere. But Peter just _can't sit still._ There's this ball of energy in his chest that he can't repress since he learned about the story.

Because it's just a _story,_ and not the _truth_.

( _It has to be.)_

"Peter!" Ned gasps as the two move down the near empty halls. Crap, they are late. Very late. Detention in the least—doesn't he already have detention though? Huh. Peter can't remember. He probably does because judging on his attendance record recently...yeah, he most likely does. _Focus._

"You really don't think that he did it?" Ned asks. There's no need for clarification. Mr. Stark. Peter really doesn't want to talk about it, because he doesn't know how to deal with it by himself and he's not sure how to express what he thinks because he _just doesn't know._

He really, really doesn't want it to be true.

"No, I don't, Ned." Peter manages to through his tightly clenched jaw. They're getting closer to the class, but they're still going to be a little tardy. It could be worse. Peter's had worse.

Ned grabs his shoulder, pulling him to a stop and sending a spark of pain through his ribs. _Ow!_ Peter whirls, frustration spinning through him. "What?"

Ned's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but he doesn't back down, "Peter, you need to breathe. I can feel the waves of tension rolling off of you. _Breathe."_

But he _can't,_ because when he breathes to deep it _hurts._ Peter sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. "Sorry, I just...I don't know what I believe. There's just so much evidence pointing towards the terrorism, but I really don't want him to have done it but at the same time…"

Ned features soften in sympathy, "Relax. I mean, you've still got the suit, right? Mr. Stark did that while he was an evil mastermind in disguise."

 _A what?_

Peter looks up at him, confused and slightly angered. Ned...Ned thinks that Mr. Stark really _did it._ How does Ned know that? How does he _know_ that Mr. Stark's guilty when Peter just _can't? (Why can't he decide)._ He wishes his brain would just pick a stupid side and stick with it. Peter looks up at the other teen and can't keep the slight desperation out of his voice as he asks, "But how do you _know_ that?"

Ned opens his mouth to answer, but never gets a chance. Peter twists around in surprise at their teacher's voice as she leans out the doorway to the classroom, "Mr. Parker, Mr. Leeds if you would be so kind as to join us in class, that would be wonderful."

Right.

They could hear what they were saying.

Staving the worst of the embarrassment, Peter and Ned share a glance before moving forward. Hopefully she didn't too hear much of that. It's a well known fact that Peter has an "internship" at Stark Industries, but not many people take him seriously. "Happy isn't picking up." Peter murmurs to Ned before walking into the room.

Why isn't he?

Because Mr. Stark's guilty?

 _Why?_

Peter's called over twenty times in the last three days, but still no answer. It's the only thing that keeps him from truly believing Mr. Stark's innocence. If he isn't guilty, why won't Happy answer him?

000o000

"How was school?" May's voice is painfully more cheerful than usual, as if she's trying to make up for his general raincloud-attitude with her sunniness. It's what she's been doing since the discovery, which—it's a nice thought, but really...he doesn't know. It just frustrates him. Peter shrugs slightly and tosses his backpack onto the empty couch before turning to look at his aunt.

"Mostly long."

May gives a small smile of sympathy and looks up from the recipe that she's making. "Yeah? Well luckily for you, I was in a baking mood." May says, her voice laced with genuine excitement despite the drop in his stomach. Great.

May shoves the recipe towards him with her elbow, "Apparently it's supposed to "blow you away with taste". I was looking for my coat in the closet and I found that. I think it was a wedding gift."

Peter's eyebrows lift a little with amusement. "It looks new."

May looks like she's chewing on her inner lip and shrugs absentmindedly, "I didn't say it was a _beloved_ wedding gift."

Point.

Peter rubs at his ribs subconsciously as he steps forward to seat himself on one of the two stools beside the counter. His ribs haven't stopped hurting since that night and Peter's not certain what to do. He knows that his healing factor can easily handle broken bones within a week, but it's not getting _better._ The bruising is getting more lavish, too, and it's honestly causing him to panic a little.

But it's fine.

It will go away.

He doesn't need to tell anyone. ( _He can't lose Spider-Man right now. Not again)._

Peter hums in response and May's lips thin a little as she cracks an egg before she asks, carefully: "Was there something that made the day long?"

Peter barely represses a pessimistic snort. What didn't make it long? No one would shut _up_ about Mr. Stark and it was as distracting as it was aggravating because Peter doesn't know if he—innocent. Mr. Stark is innocent.

But what about the—?

 _Innocent._

Peter chews on his inner lip. "Lots of homework...and they wouldn't stop talking about Mr. Stark."

May's hands still. The movement is barely noticeable, but Peter has been living with her for more than eight years. They haven't talked about the discovery. Peter hasn't brought it up and May has pointedly ignored it. Peter knows she knows. No one _doesn't_ know by this point.

Terrorist.

 _Terrorist._

Innocent. But—? He's _INNOCENT!_

"Oh?" May questions, but her voice is weak, "Hmm. Do you think that maybe I should add some Italian seasoning to this? I know it's not spaghetti or lasagna, but I think it would add and—" May moves away from the counter to look through their meager spices collection. She's uncomfortable with this topic, but Peter...just... _agh!_

"May?" Peter asks, ignoring her question all together. He doesn't care what spices she adds, not if Mr. Stark really did commit— _stop that. He didn't._ Treason. If he really did commit— _STOP IT!_

May hums conversationally, but Peter can tell she's reluctant. Peter blows out a breath and winces, gently rubbing a hand across his ribs, but being careful to keep it from his aunt's view. He just wants to _sleep._ The wound burns from sitting up all day and this isn't helping much. He really needs ice. Or to spend a few days as Spider-Man because when he's Spider-Man he's not Peter Parker: A Teenage Tragedy.

"Do you think…" Peter pauses for a moment, grouping his thoughts. "That Mr. Stark is guilty?"

May lets out a long sigh, slumping with defeat before she hides her head behind her hands. Peter watches her carefully. Everyone else he's talked to directly about it seems to think so ( _Ned did. Ned who wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to believe Peter and he didn't)_ , the whole school did, too.

May turns slowly and moves, taking the other stool. She wrings her hands for a moment, then gives a sympathetic grimace. "Peter...I…" _That means yes. Oh, gosh, she thinks that he would do it, "_ I _do_ think that it's a possibility we should consider."

"No," Peter corrects, "you think that he _did."_

May's face flickers with embarrassment, but her resolve is hard: "Yes, I do."

Peter's breath catches and his eyes widen, " _Why?"_

May sighs, again, and suddenly Peter realizes how tired she looks. She always looks tired now, not as excessive as after Ben's death, but she seems to live in a state of exhaustion. Peter doesn't help, despite how much he tries. He just adds and _adds and adds._

May's quite a moment before she answers: "Peter, I really wish that you and him hadn't gotten involved, I should have put my foot down after Homecoming...I don't know what I was thinking. He's a very good liar, Peter, the government…they don't do that. Not like him. The Sokovia Accords was supposed to fix this all, and if he refused to...I just don't see how he _can't_ be, Peter. I know this probably isn't what you wanted to hear but...that's my answer."

No.

She's wrong.

They're all _wrong!_

If he's guilty, why did Mr. Stark stop the invasion of New York? Why did he stop the dozens of villains that came after? Why did he allow the Avengers to move into his tower? Why did he prevent Ultron? Why did he give aid to thousands of Sokovian refugees and personally take in Scarlet Witch? Why would he work with S.H.I.E.L.D.? And just...be a hero? All for cover? Why doesn't _anyone_ seem to get there's just something to _off_ about the story? Some pieces that are still missing, and that don't _fit_ no matter where you stuff them. Why would Mr. Stark vote for the Accords which would put him under _government restriction?_

May rises to her feet and moves back to the cookbook as if nothing happened. But it _did,_ and can't she see that?

How can she just accept that he's guilty so quickly?

Isn't that what his job as Spider-Man ism to protect the innocent? To help those who can't help themselves? It's not right and it's definitely not fair that everyone always believes the first thing they hear...and why can't his aunt see that?

Why is everyone so blind!?

Everyone is just so—augh! Peter wants to scream, he wants to tug at his hair and not _stop_ because no one is _listening_ and he just wants to _know_ what the right answer is so there isn't all this blank where there should be color—everyone is just seeing this in black and white, but Peter just _can't._ Through sheer stubbornness or just plain stupidity he refuses to accept the fact that Mr. Stark— _Iron Man—_ would do that. Why?

 _I think it's a possibility..._

 _Yes, I do, yes, I do, yes, I do, yes, I do…_

Peter's fingers curl into tight fists, the swirl of anxiety, frustration and anger pulsing through his muscles before he _slams_ his hand down on the counter, sharp pain splitting up through his forearm. The sound it makes is thick and May looks up at him, her stare disapproving. Frustrated.

"Mr. Stark _isn't guilty."_ Peter defends, his voice strangely level for all the chaos inside. Saying it out loud makes it more real, just like how people talking around him all day with the guilt at school made it seem sincere. It's not. Mr. Stark didn't do it; he wishes people would just _shut up_ about it because it's not true.

May purses her lips and gives Peter an unhappy look, "Peter, I _know_ you want that to be true, but—"

He's on his feet, though he doesn't remember standing, "Mr. Stark is innocent!" He says, raising his voice higher. Because Mr. Stark wouldn't do something like that after everything that happened. When Peter and him had spent time together that was _real,_ not this awkward facade that everyone is trying to throw onto him.

"Peter—" May starts to argue, her voice growing sharper.

"No!" Peter protests, "Mr. Stark didn't—he _wouldn't_!"

"Peter, I know this is hard to accept, but Mr. Stark _did_ you can't prove otherwise. There is _nothing_ you can do and you need to accept that he wasn't the man you thought. So just— _stop this_ now."

 _Run._

 _Flee._

 _Get. Away._

Peter all but bolts from the room, grabbing his backpack, and ignoring his aunt's reprimanding cry of " _Peter!_ Get back here!" because he just doesn't _care._ Why won't anyone believe him?

Peter rips open the door to his room and then slams it with a heavy bang. The sound of the wood smacking against the border drives a satisfied feeling that he really shouldn't be so proud of. Peter storms forward and kicks the edge of his bed the... _feeling_ he can't describe hollowing his stomach. Open panic. That's what it is. Yeah. Ha. Okay. Peter rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to _breathe_ properly. He needs to get out. He needs to _leave._ Why is there no right answer!?

He's going to suffocate.

He hisses sharply and grabs his backpack, ripping the zipper open and digging through the books before he sees the familiar red and blue suit. The ache for the simplicity of a few days ago hits him so suddenly Peter almost takes a step back. Instead he locks his door before pulling on the suit and grabbing the mask and tugging the window open and jumping out.

The free-fall swirls through him, but lacks the usual excitement. Peter lifts up his wrist and aims for the edge of the apartment building next to his. The webbing swings outwards and sticks, smacking against the bricks and Peter quickly follows.

Peter glares, exhaling a heavy breath of anger. He doesn't want to deal with anyone right now, the urge to just _run_ is a powerful feeling, but he stuffs it down. He _has_ to. He's just going to go on long enough to clear his head. He's only going to make things worse between him and May if he stays, but he still has homework that needs to be done, and—it doesn't matter right now.

He grabs the mask and pulls it over his head completely before aiming another web. He sees the building and swings towards his next target, glaring at nothing in particular. He wishes that someone else would deal with the problem because he _really doesn't want to._

"Good evening, Mr. Parker." Peter lets out a yelp of surprise and releases the web he was swinging with, and free falls for a moment. Adrenaline bursts through him and Peter angles his body left, twisting earnestly before he grabs the edge of the street light. A jolt of shock ripples through his shoulder at the sudden weight, but Peter ignores it, swinging onto the top of the light, his eyes wide.

Karen.

Oh, man, it's just Karen. _Breathe, you idiot._

He forgot about his AI.

"Your heart rate is elevated, Peter, are you injured?" Karen's calm voice asks and Peter realizes with a pang that he hasn't been out as Spider-Man since he was grounded and he didn't help anyone for _three_ days.

Peter sighs from his balanced crouch on the streetlight. The roads are empty save the snow drifts and thick ice sheets, so at least no one was privy to his surprise."No," Peter answers the AI softly, looking down at his wrists.

"Scanning diagnosis." Karen says, anyway, and then: "Your ribs are still injured from your last outing." If an AI could have emotions, Karen sounds strangely concerned. Peter purses his lips. He can confirm that. It's an aching bruise with every breath, but he's already out here and he doesn't want to talk to Aunt May because he's pretty sure that his grounding is now extended.

Peter releases a long sigh, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

"Peter, if I may offer a recommendation, it would be wise to wait until your ribs aren't as damaged before you proceed onward." Karen avers, voice still level. Always level.

Peter shakes his head, "No, I'm good. Karen, do you think that Mr. Stark is guilty?" He needs her to agree with him. He needs _someone_ to or he's going to lose it and Spider-Man really will be the menace that J.J. Jameson declares him to be.

"I am a computer, Mr. Parker, I am incapable of thinking." Karen answers. _No, you just don't_ want _to, and using that as an excuse._

"You know what I mean, Karen." He deadpans. Karen seems to release a soft sigh before answering: "No, Mr. Parker, I do not believe the story; but this is because I am created by Mr. Stark and incapable of having negativity towards him." Karen says. Really? Peter didn't know that was a—Ultron. _Oh._

"Really? Like at all? You can't feel negative at all?" Peter asks. In response, he can almost picture Karen roll her eyes.

"Peter, I am a computer and incapable of feeling—"

" _And?_ " Peter interrupts.

"Fine. Yes, you are correct, however, if it comes between yourself and Mr. Stark I am capable of feeling some...displeasure with actions done to both of you. I cannot overwrite my protocols."

Peter hums slightly before he lifts up his hand and aims for the roof of the nearest building. Another apartment. He's almost to the city, but he just has to get past housing.

 _Twhip!_

Peter swings forward, breathing sharply through his nose. The air is sharp with chill, and— _wait._ Karen was _created_ by Mr. Stark and Peter knows that she can send him live feed if she need to, which means that she _must_ have connection to either _him_ or Friday. Mr. Stark would pick up to _Karen,_ right?

Peter lands on the edge of the building. "Karen, can you get a hold of Mr. Stark?" He asks. Karen is quiet for a moment.

"No, Mr. Parker. I have been attempting to contact Friday since you donned the suit and activated me, however she is unresponsive. Happy Hogan is not answering either, I believe that he is disconnected from cell towers. Would you like me to try Mrs. Stark?" Karen asks. Peter bites his lip. The title sounds so weird on her after so long of knowing Pepper as "Ms. Potts" on the media. In business she still goes by her maiden name because Mr. Stark wanted her to get recognized for something other than _his_ last name, so most people refer to her as "Mrs. Potts" now. Peter's only talked with her a handful of times, though, one of which was at her and Mr. Stark's wedding a little over a month ago.

Peter shakes his head in answer. He still doesn't know her very well and he doesn't want to bother her, because the media has refused to leave Mrs. Potts alone. And adding an annoying kid that Mr. Stark feels obligated to babysit won't help.

"Mr. Parker, may I ask why you are angry?" Karen questions. Peter blows out a long breath. He doesn't want to talk about it. He's so tired. _Sleep._ It's all he really wants now.

"I'm...just...stressed about everything. I wish someone would find Mr. Stark so we could see if he's actually guilty. I hope he isn't." He admits quietly. He doesn't _want_ him to be, but he _might. No. He's innocent. Innocent, innocent, innocent!_

"I don't either, Mr. Parker." Karen says and Peter purses his lips.

He needs to focus on something else. "What do you got for me, Karen? Let's get to work."

000o000

Peter spends hours in the city stopping thefts, a few muggings, helping an older woman locate her missing cat (of the which was extremely grouchy, so Peter doesn't understand why the woman _wanted_ it back), and stopped a handful of normal bank robberies. When he's done he's sweaty, cold, and his muscles feel like floppy wet noodles, but he's considerably calmer.

Peter comes to a halt at the edge of a building staring out at the twinkling artificial lights blinking up at him. Peter sits and lets his legs dangle over the side releasing a groan of exhaustion and pain. His hand comes to press against his ribs, but he hisses at his mistake.

No.

No touchy.

Alright.

Karen was right, his ribs are on fire and every breath feels like he's trying to breathe through rose thorns. He should not have gone out tonight.

"Mr. Parker, your ribs have been under extreme strain tonight, I recommend bed rest for a few days and no intense physical activities for at least a week." Karen announces. Peter mumbles something he doesn't understand in response and lays back against the snow covered building. The chill of the snow digs into his back and he releases a long breath of relief. It's like an ice pack...but not. Whatever. It feels nice all the same.

"What time is it?" Peter mutters, closing his eyes and clenching his fists as a wave of pain smacks into him full blast. He wants to hold his left side, but the touch will make it worse. Ugh.

"It is currently three seventeen A.M., I believe you missed your curfew." The last part is slightly dry and Peter rolls his eyes offering a huff. Her persistence throughout the night had made Peter explain about the re-enforced curfew, but she hadn't pressed him into going home when they passed it. That was...nice. Relieving.

"Yeah, yeah, May's going to kill me, what else is new?" Peter grumbles. Maybe he can just go home tomorrow because he's so _tired_ and he really doesn't want to trek his way across New York tonight. It's such a _long_ distance—no, no it's not. From where he is right now it's like maybe ten minutes. _Get up._ Peter groans and drags himself into a sitting position, grabbing his phone from his pocket as he does so, flipping it open with frozen fingers.

Seven missed calls from May Parker and over two dozen texts.

Peter gives a small wince and bites his lip before dialing her number. _Please don't pick up, please don't pick up, please don't pick up,_ Peter chants silently in his head. He presses the phone against his ear and it rings twice before May's voice answers: " _Peter!?_ Where have you been!? I've been so worried, are you alright?"

Peter flinches at the volume, his heightened senses making it louder than it would have been normally. Stupid spider bite. "Yeah, Aunt May, I'm fine." He assures.

"Good. Then what were you _thinking!_ " May yells, "Running off like that? I can't even—!" She takes a calming breath and Peter clenches his fist next to his side. May exhales heavily, then says a little softer: "Just get home safe okay? I'll be waiting. You are so grounded."

"I already am, Aunt May." He reminds her tonelessly.

"Yeah? Well, it'll be longer. How far out are you?" Her voice is rising and lowering with anger and extreme worry and guilt rushes through Peter as he realizes that it's _all. His. Fault._ He really shouldn't have run off. It was a childish thing to do, but Peter...he just had to get _out. (That's not an excuse!)_

"About ten minutes, I'm sorry, Aunt May. I'll see you then, love you." Peter answers and gnaws at his inner lip slightly.

"I love you, too," May says, though her tone is still sharp, " _ci vediamo presto._ " She ends the call and Peter pulls the phone away from his face, barely repressing a flinch. She's definitely not happy. When she starts speaking Italian, she's usually beyond vexed.

This is not great.

He only knows a handful of phrases in Italian because she doesn't speak in it often; May typically tries to stay away from her mother's native language because the relationship between herself and her parents was...strained.

"Adiós." Peter mumbles in response. He sighs and flicks through the contacts again, his eyes lingering on Happy's name. Should he? All the other attempts have been unsuccessful but...maybe…

Peter pushes call and lifts the phone to his face again. The wind is biting into his skin through the mask and if he doesn't start making his way home soon his ribs won't be the only thing he needs to worry about.

The number rings.

And rings.

 _And rings._

" _This is the voicemail of Happy Hogan; leave a message."_

"Hey, Happy, this is Peter...Parker. Sorry to be annoying, but I...just call be back when you get this, okay?" Peter trails off and closes his eyes clutching the phone a little tighter. He needs to know, he needs someone to pick up, he needs…he _wants..._ Peter releases a breath before adding a shaky: " _Please."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thanks for your support! =) You're amazing!**

 **Disclaimer: Still own nothing!**

 **Updated: April 12, 2019**

* * *

Chapter Three:

She hasn't spoken to her husband in four days, has slept about six hours total within that time period, and is well beyond her breaking point. The only thing keeping her from tumbling over the edge is a single phrase: _Tony is innocent._

There aren't many things that can phase Pepper anymore. Alien army invades New York? Seen it. Man survives seventy years in ice? Done selfies with him. Evil mastermind robot tries to take over Earth? Married to the man who helped create it, but this? This is something else _entirely_.

 _Tony is innocent._

Her lips are run down to the point that they physically ache from how much she's been biting at them, her hands are a never ending blur of energy, she can't remember the last time she ate, changed clothing, did her hair, or slept for longer than ten minutes, and she's never done so much paperwork in her life.

 _Tony is innocent._

She can't focus on anything or everything because nothing _matters_ right now. Her husband is missing and she has _no idea_ where on Earth he is, and _he won't call her_. He's supposed to call her in situations like this—he _always_ calls her in situations like this. Before the wormhole, before they faced Ultron, before he went to find Steve in Siberia, he _never leaves her wondering._

Pepper doesn't believe the story. She _doesn't._ She's only been married to Tony for a little over a month, but she's been his companion for over five years now. It...she...as time stretches on, however, her belief is starting to stretch painfully thin. And she _hates_ that. She's not supposed to doubt ( _she doesn't!),_ but Tony...Tony isn't _like_ this.

He's not.

She _saw_ the panic attacks that followed Afghanistan. He wasn't setting up an underground network, he was trying to _survive._ She touched the arc reactor. She _put her hand inside his chest._ She's seen plenty of proof that the story can be debunked.

Because that's all it is.

A story.

Not the truth.

Never the truth.

 _Tony is innocent._

But if he _isn't_ guilty, why hasn't he got a hold of her yet?

 _Tony is innocent_.

It's a mantra she has to keep running her head because if she _stops,_ even for a _second,_ she's going to completely lose herself. She's already had one emotional break down and she doesn't plan on having another. She has neither the time nor the will power.

After the reporters called her and told her the evidence demanding if she new anything Pepper was disgusted and spoke her mind openly without tact before hanging up and crying for hours. Because there's just so much _proof._ She refuses to accept it though, because she _knows_ Tony.

Stubbornness and stupidity often go hand and hand.

Pepper blinks slowly, trying to focus on the meeting she's in, but the people are just droning on and on and she really couldn't care less about it. Something about their recent model of the Stark-Pad went haywire and now over two thousand people are furious after volunteering to try it. Honestly? She just wants to go home, find the nearest cheesy movie she can and curl up into a blanket and _cry._

She hasn't had a chance to leave the office yet, between all the reporters and the news hanging around it like they've been glued there that she's been avoiding, to her employees purposefully bothering her with meaningless tasks (though they think their helping), and trying to find Tony. She has a breaking point and this has stepped above, beyond and played with her emotions in a way that she hasn't experienced.

 _Tony is innocent._

This isn't like before the Avenger's Civil War where she was purposefully avoiding Tony because he was driving her completely _insane_. This is different. She loves him, and he loves her and they were happily married until this was pulled up. Pepper is trying extremely hard to not go into a full on out _panic_ because it's always within reaching grasp the last few days.

Pepper blinks tiredly and stares at the board meeting members trying to control her rising emotions. She just wants to leave this stupid building and track down Tony before the government does, but they _just keep talking._ Do they even realize how _incredibly_ boring it is the talk about the same subject for hours on end without making any progress forward? Pepper just wants them to _shut up_ because her head is pounding and she's so tired, but she can't sleep because Tony may call her or try to get a hold of her and she'll miss it.

 _And she won't miss something that important._

 _No._

 _She'll be here for him this time._

Pepper slowly moves her fingers to her nose and gives the bridge a firm pinch of frustration before closing her eyes. Maybe she can just sneak out, they're all so obviously interested in yelling at each other that they wouldn't notice. That would be nice...she can even find a couch or something to just take a little shut eye—no, no, and no. Sleeping is not happening until Tony's location is secure.

What if he's hurt? What if he's dead, what if— _lightning strikes a pigeon and you move to a haunted house?_ Pepper, _calm down._ She can't! It's like walls are closing in on her and she can't find anyway to push them, she's just so exhausted. She wants to leave this stupid meeting, she wants the last few days to have been a lie, she wants...she wants Tony.

There's a rather aggressive shout and someone slamming their hand down on the table drags Pepper's wandering consciousness back to the present. She lifts her gaze lazily to stare at a man. His deep black hair is sticking up in all directions and his mustache is large and looks strongly of a caterpillar crawling across his lip. Pepper's lips ghost a small smirk as she remembers one time that Tony insisted that the bug must've crawled onto his face and the man, Marcus Howlett, felt comforted by his presence and kept it.

That, per usual, hadn't been in private.

It'd been extremely hard to keep a straight face.

And silence, oh it's beautiful. It's been so long since she's had any. It's just been people talking and talking and talking for _days_ now and she'd almost forgotten what it'd sounded like. Wait. Why are they not talking anymore?

Pepper shifts her gaze from the obnoxiously faint grey walls to the other board members and purses her lips as she realizes why they've gone quiet. They're all looking at her. Someone must've asked a question.

Ah, great.

Pepper's mind scrambles, trying to remember what the last thing someone said was, but she was so focused on the caterpillar mustache and Tony's comment that she wasn't paying attention to anything else. Because the caterpillar reminds her so much of _Tony_ and it makes her heart _ache._

Pepper pulls her hands away from her face and lays them on top of the tabletop, blinking. She really needs to find somewhere to lay down soon or she's going to start seeing double. Actually, she already is.

"I'm sorry," She says, her voice sounds shaky—almost raspy. Has she had water recently? She should've...no, it's been a while. "I missed that, will you repeat it?" She finishes the question and doesn't look down at her hands no matter how much she wants to.

Her fingers do, however, start to spin her wedding ring around her left hand. Around and around and around. Almost a full minute passes before any of the board members speak.

A tall, balding man, Terrance Cleaner, clears his throat and straightens his tie before meeting her gaze, "Well, we were just discussing what we plan on doing now that Mr. Stark is... _unavailable_ to modify and design our projects. As you know, Stark Industries is a very famous company that relied heavily on Mr. Stark's ability to create and design new technology that kept us on the map. We may need to think about switching back to weapons, Mrs. Potts do you think that—"

Is he _insane?_

Tony nearly _died_ to stop that.

She won't let that go in vain.

How faithless they all are. Tony was accused _four_ days ago. Not a month, not a year, but less than a week and they're already trying to find a replacement. Yes, she _should_ be focused on her company, but the betrayal is thick and heavy against her chest.

Painful.

"No." She interrupts, anger coursing through her because _how dare he!? Her husband is innocent!_ Tony will be back to create the technology because he is _not guilty_ and she couldn't care less about what they think. She's CEO of S.I. isn't she?

 _That's not how proper "bossing" works, Pep._

Mr. Cleaner blinks in surprise, "I'm sorry, what? Do you care to elaborate, Mrs. Potts?" He demands. His voice is cold and sharp as if daring her to defy him.

And _oh—_ she dares.

Pepper's on her feet the red heels she's been wearing for the last three almost four days straight making the lower half of her foot pulse with pain. Her feet feel like jello and her muscles are exhausted, but she stands her ground. "We are _not_ switching back to weapons. Tony has been missing for _four_ days. Do you all have so little faith in him?"

The board members are quiet, staring at their feet.

Pepper can't quite keep the shock off her face.

What on the—!?

Mr. Cleaner clears his throat. "Mrs. Potts—"

"My name," she avers, and her voice is anything but gentle, "is Virginia _Stark._ Do you have a problem with that?"

"Well...we just thought that you should drop it because of what Mr. Stark did. It looks bad on for business with your relation to him—" Marcus starts to say, but doesn't finish. She's just had _enough_ of these _blundering morons_ and she wants to get _out._

 _You're not thinking clearly anymore._

 _Calm down._

"We are _not_ switching back to weapons, because _my husband_ is _not_ guilty!" She slams her hands down on the table her fingers wrapping around the edge. Her ring is digging into her fourth finger, but she couldn't care less as she stares the men down. She puts special emphasis on "my husband" just for Mr. Cleaner. Because she's wishing him murder with her eyes and the desire to fire everyone in this room is strong.

But she shouldn't.

Because once you get past the layers of stupidity, annoying, idiotic, and hair-pulling frustrating they are good businessmen and have helped keep the company stable. Despite this, she's going to strangle something the next time someone brings up the... _story_ again.

 _It's just a story!_

 _Nothing more._

 _Tony is innocent._

"Mrs. Potts," one of the other board members starts hesitantly, "perhaps it would be wise if you hand over management of the company to us until this blows over. You're clearly not thinking straight and until this settles over and until Mr. Stark is in government custody—"

Pepper slams her fist down on the table again resisting the urge—though it's strong—to kick something. " _No!_ "

Why can't she just calm down? Her hands are shaking with rage or helplessness, but there's just this ball of pent up emotions she's been stuffing down since she learned _days_ ago and they haven't had a chance to release yet and these men are getting a full force. She should leave before she does something else incredibly stupid.

 _Calm down._

 _Calm._

 _Breathe._

She needs to leave.

She's going to hit someone. Pepper purses her lips and grabs her purse, moving towards the door to the office room. Her heels echo against the ground in soft _clanks_ though her posture is furious.

"Mrs. Potts—"

Her hand reaches for the doorknob, but she pauses, not bothering to look behind her, "It's Stark, Mr. Cleaner, _S-T-A-R-K_."

She rips the door open and strides from the room swinging it closed behind her. She's getting _out_ of this building before she completely loses it and blows something up. Or tosses something at one of the large, expensive, easily breakable glass windows.

Stilling a glare onto her face because no one will bother her if she does, Pepper stroms down the hallway. She refuses to answer any calls for her attention and after a little, her employees pick up on the fact that she's not in a sociable mood. S.I. could burn for all she cares. (She does care, but she can't handle anything right now). Employee's eyes widen before they all but _leap_ out of her way,save a young blonde woman who rams into her left arm. Beyond that though, everyone avoids her She should feel guilty.

She doesn't.

She slips into the elevator, alone, and Friday remains quiet as she presses firmly down on the button leading to the basement. A little less than a minute later, Pepper steps out into the area and punches in the codes for Tony's private garage in the building. The doors open with a soft hiss.

As she steps into the room, the door shuts and locks behind her, but Pepper comes to a slow halt as she enters a few steps in, tears threatening to fall. Because this space is just so _Tony's_ and there's a distinct _lack_ of him here. He's always been insistent of breaking his cars apart and putting them back together "right", but there is the occasional one where he wasn't paying too much attention that blew up in his face.

This room has been empty of more than Tony for a long time.

Pepper's gaze, of its own accord, flicks towards where the other Avenger's vehicles were stored for so many years. She forces herself to pull her gaze away. The Avengers haven't been here for a long time, and she _needs to let it go._ She's furious, but there's a strange apathy that fills her, too.

She saw the bruises across Tony's chest and the six broken bones.

She was the one who dragged him from Siberia.

She never wants to receive a call like that from Friday again.

"Friday?" Pepper calls softly into the room. Pepper waits for a moment, but is only greeted by silence. Maybe she didn't hear her? The thought is incredulous though, because Friday can pick up even the slightest of whispers.

"Friday?" Pepper repeats slightly louder.

Silence.

Pepper's eyebrows meet in confusion and she looks up at the ceiling, she can't _see_ the AI, no one can, but Friday should be able to detect her...Did Tony pull her out of the building? The only reason Friday would have left was at his request. Actually, now that Pepper's thinking back, she hasn't heard the AI since the announcement.

 _Why would he pull her out?_

He…

No.

Stop.

He didn't.

He _didn't._

 _Please, please, please._

Tony, _please._

Pepper exhales unsteadily, quickly wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks when she realizes they're wet. She bites her tongue before moving towards one of the less expensive cars (one of the few she has the keys to) and digs the key ring from out of her purse. She pulls the door open and as soon as she's settled into the seat of the white car she shuts it.

Everything is tumbling around her.

Chaotic.

It's not going to stop.

Pepper inhales sharply trying desperately not to cry. She shoves the keys into the ignition and twists it, the engine roaring to life. Pepper grabs the steering wheel, but freezes as she sees her glimmering wedding ring sparkling up at her.

She may lose Tony forever.

He may have _really_ done it.

Then he lied to her...and...

Stop.

This is ludicrous.

 _Virginia_ _, stop._

Pepper gasps suddenly, her chest heaving with sobs before the flood gates break and all she can see is blurs of color. Pepper leans her head forward pressing her forehead against the steering wheel her bangs digging into her forehead. She wraps her arms around her chest her left hand digging her necklace from under her suit coat. The shrapnel isn't comfortable against her skin in the slightest, but Pepper doesn't _care_ because everything is falling apart and she can't do anything to bring the fraying edges back together.

000o000

One of the agreements between herself and Tony as they discussed their marriage was that they didn't want to live in a giant house in the middle of the city. Pepper just wanted the semi-normalness of it and Tony just agreed with her because he admitted he's a little tired of being in the limelight all the time. She knew differently, Tony doesn't like the publicity, yeah, but he's used to it. He doesn't want to be in the city because it reminds him of the _Avengers_.

When Pepper pulls up to the Victorian-style, two story house it's comforting. Familiar. She can almost convince herself that Tony's going to be in the house trying to burn down the kitchen again or working on some other project.

Pepper wipes the back of her hand across her face again biting her lower lip as she slams the button to close the garage with far more force than necessary. Her emotions are a mess and she probably looks like she got ran over by a stampede of elephants then tossed over the edge of a rather rocky cliff. Not that it matters, the only person who's going to be here is her.

Tony is still missing.

No word, no calls.

He's gone.

Pepper flips through the key ring a moment, looking for the right key before pushing it into the lock and the metal grinds against it before the bolt opens and Pepper pushes open the door.

The house isn't huge, but in no ways small. The garage opens into a small laundry room and from that to a kitchen. The living room is across from that, a guest bedroom and a library. The basement is solely Tony's workshop and upstairs is their bedroom, a few offices, and other empty rooms neither knew what to do with. Neither her, nor her husband are junk hoarders.

Pepper pushes the door open and steps into the house blinking momentarily at the lights. She blows out an irritable breath. Great. She must've left them on when she left...or maybe Tony did. The last time she saw him was at a lunch meeting before the discovery several days ago. She hasn't been home since then. Pepper lets out a soft raspberry in annoyance stepping into the kitchen tossing her purse onto the counter as she does so. Do they have tissues hanging around somewhere? Her running nose is a mess and she needs to wipe her makeup from off her face.

Pepper stares at the counter for a moment her eyes jumping over various objects before she freezes.

Someone else is in the room.

She can hear them breathing.

Pepper's fingers curl into fists around the handle of her purse and she turns her head slowly, and then almost jumps backwards as she sees that _someone is sitting at the table._ Her balance slips from the heels and her hands press against the wall behind her in an attempt to catch it before her eyes widen in surprise in relief.

"Pepper?" Tony's voice is soft as he rises to his feet. He looks terrible. His hair is a mess, his eyes hold bags that look far more like bruises and she's pretty sure that he hasn't changed his clothing, eaten or slept at all. Pepper has sudden confidence in her appearance.

Wait. Tony's _here._ Tony _is right here._

Pepper struggles to collect her swirling emotions.

Anger.

Relief.

Frustration.

Love.

Panic.

Worry.

She kicks off her heels and strides towards him wrapping him in a tight hug, relief overpowering her. Because her Tony is alive, he's here, and he's _not dead._ Tony's arms wrap around her, strong and powerful and just a feeling of _safe_ that nothing can overpower. He always holds her like she might vanish if he lets go. Pepper breathes into his shirt closing her eyes tightly tears threatening to leak through them again. He smells like he always does, faintly of gasoline, strong vanilla, and a hint of metal.

"Are you okay?" She murmurs into his shirt.

Tony sighs and squeezes her tighter for a moment, "...Not really. I'm twelve percent of okay...but you're here now so...sort of."

Pepper pulls back slowly to stare at his face and her eyebrows meet in concern for a moment at just how ragged he looks. "Good," she murmurs softly with intense relief. She can feel her expression darken before she shoves him sharply on his shoulders. Tony stumbles back a step, but her emotions grab hold of her commonsense and run.

"Where have you _been!?_ " She shouts, trying and failing to keep her voice down to not raise the suspicion of their neighbors. Tony watches her as she struggles not to cry again, "Everyone thinks that—Tony, oh gosh, Tony _please_ tell me it isn't true." She pleads.

He can't…

He didn't…

Tony is quiet.

Dread rushes through her and Pepper shakes her head back and forth. Her hands raise to cover her mouth, "Tony…no..."

Tony looks up at her, meeting her eyes with such earnest force that it startles her, "Pepper," the word slips from his lips like it's the only hope his clinging onto. "Pepper, _no._ Did you really think that I…?" He trails off and refuses to break eye contact.

Pepper holds it.

Her breath feels like she's heaving in ice.

Pepper shakes her head again and can't help the sob that digs in her throat. "Tony...I didn't." She purses her lips together and straightens her spine trying to hold herself together before it all falls apart again and she cries. She hates crying, the helpless _lost_ feeling that accompanies it drives her absolutely mad so she avoids it as much as she can.

But she can't _stop it_ and she wishes she wouldn't cry because she it makes her feel like such a _child._ But the tears are still running down her face. The relief, the anger the pain the hopelessness everything is just too much. But Tony's innocent. He didn't do it.

He was framed.

 _Tony is innocent._

Yet it doesn't make her stop crying, even as much as she wants to punch something. She just _can't stop._

Tony leans forward and grabs her head pulling it to his chest wrapping his other hand around her shoulders. "Pep, I didn't do it. It's okay, _breathe."_ He instructs softly, running a hand through her messy hair. It only makes her cry harder. Because he was _gone_ and he was _evil_ and then he's here and he's _didn't._

It's okay.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

But it doesn't feel like it.

Right now it only resembles a huge mess she has no idea how she's going to clean up or deal with. Tony murmurs words of comfort into her hair, but it only makes her feel worse because _she_ should be the one comforting _him_ and reassuring him that it's okay because _her_ world didn't fall apart; just rattled. _He's_ the one who's been framed and the whole world thinks is a traitor, _not her._

Pepper pulls away and wipes her eyes again for the umpteenth time today and stares at Tony's face. It's twisted with concern and raw emotion that he only leaves visible for his family and it always makes Pepper warm on the inside knowing that she is. He holds her shoulders and Pepper gnaws on her inner lip for a moment before releasing a slow breath. _Get it together, Pepper_.

Pepper nods at Tony's silent question and he gently guides her to the couch in the living room that they both sit on. Pepper turns her position so she's staring at Tony. His expression is still twisted in frustration and a despair so easily readable across his face it unnerves her. Tony is a master of deception with his emotions, he can pull the veil over people's eyes without them ever knowing or suspecting. Sometimes it scares her.

Pepper reaches forward and grabs his hand giving it a quick squeeze.

 _I'm here._

Tony exhales softly, "I'm sure you're wondering what happened."

Pepper nods, "I am." She agrees, her voice deceptively level. She's searched and _searched_ and wants nothing more than to _know,_ but couldn't find _anything._ The...person? (thing?) who did this wiped their tracks clean, there's not even evidence of their arrival into the system save Friday's odd absence.

Tony rubs the back of his neck with his left hand blowing out a breath of frustration and a deep annoyance. "Well...someone—I don't know who, but I'd love to hire them—bypassed my system, momentarily locked out Friday, _then_ added a virus into it that spread over the last few years and completely covered any data that was already there. Beyond the few files I had hidden in Jarvis's old system setups, everything was open game." Tony explains quickly as if he doesn't talk fast enough he'll just _stop._

Pepper's eyes widen at the information. Someone hacked into _Tony Stark's_ files. _Tony's._ One of the greatest computer geniuses in the world... _how?_

"Tony," She breathes, because she can't muster up anything else to say; her brain is scrambling for reasons on _why_ and _how_ that just _aren't coming._

Tony gives a weak smile and bites his lower lip before continuing: "After they added the "virus", they leaked the information to Ross, changed the passwords to give the government easy access and—well the rest you know."

Her tongue isn't working and she can't breathe right.

That answers that.

But there's still the entire other that she doesn't understand yet. She gnaws on her inner lip for a long second, "What happened? Tony, why did you run?" He could have stopped all of this if he explained. The _days_ she spent doubting him, it all could have been stopped days ago.

Tony snorts, rising to his feet, "What was I supposed to do, Pep? You can't tell there's a virus there—it all looks authentic. I should just let myself get taken into custody for something I _didn't do?"_

 _Yes._

"The truth will come out sometime. Tony, this looks bad that you ran—" She tries to explain, but Tony whirls on her.

"I am _not_ going to jail for something _I didn't do."_ He hisses. Pepper bites back her surprise at the venom laced in his voice. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. His breathing is fierce and fast and Pepper curls her hands on the couch trying to find words of comfort. What can she say? Everything's a mess. There's nothing that she _can_ do or say to make this any better because Tony is a mess and she can do _absolutely nothing._ She's never felt more useless in her life.

Silence laces the quiet between them for almost a full two minutes.

"I almost died, Pepper," Tony says quietly. Pepper looks up at him locking her sight onto him in alarm and surprise at his voice. "I almost died to stop all of this. The weapons. I had shrapnel in my chest for _years_ because I wanted it over; why does nobody _see_ that?"

Pepper is quiet for a moment. She wishes she could make this all go away. "I do." She assures softly. Tony meets her gaze and stays quiet, listening. She clenches her fists. "Tony, this isn't going to be easy—but you rarely take that road, anyway," Tony offers a small smirk at that, "but we're going to do this. We're going to prove that you didn't do it. Alright?" She asks and he remains quiet, " _Alright_?"

"Yeah," Tony mutters. He takes a seat next to her on the couch and intertwines their fingers, "You're a target now, you know that, right? The feds are gonna think you're helping me and pull you in for interrogation; I saw your trails."

Her _trails?_

And—Oh. She didn't bother to check when she was driving home, she didn't care to. She didn't think Tony was going to be here. Curses. Pepper mentally kicks herself for not thinking about that until now.

Pepper bites her lip, sighing quietly, "I didn't notice. I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to drag something up…" a thought occurs to her, "Tony, what have you been doing for the last few days? I've been trying to get a hold of your cell since the report." She admits. Tony wouldn't _answer_ and it only make her panic more.

Tony snickers, a smirk of large satisfaction on his face, "I had to ditch my phone after I slipped away from S.I., it'll be hilarious when the government finally realizes they _can_ track it, and then find it stuffed down the drain in a public bathroom east of here."

Pepper's eyebrows meet, "You mean to tell me that you _walked_ from _New York City_ to here?" She demands and can't stop the small leak of frustration that slips into her voice as she does so. It's a forty minute _drive!_

"Yeah, so?" Tony raises an eyebrow in question and Pepper groans.

"You're such an idiot. Why didn't you call Happy, or _me?_ You still had your phone." She asks and Tony bites his lip.

"I...did. Happy ditched his phone because he can track me on it, and I didn't want to risk them linking you to me so...yeah. I meant to call. I promise, it just...didn't happen. I'm sorry." Tony says and Pepper sighs softly.

Of course.

He's overprotective tendencies are going to get someone killed one of these days.

Pepper sighs before rising to her feet and walking across the room to her purse, "Where are you going?" Tony calls to her back in question. Pepper waves a hand before pulling the bag off of the countertop and digging through it. Her fingers pass through a dozen pens, dead and alive, a handful of cards, her wallet, and keys before they finally grab her phone. She turns and tosses it across the room to Tony. Her husband reaches forward from over the side of the couch to grab it and looks up at her when he does.

"Um?"

Pepper rolls her eyes, "Cute. You have to have a phone because I am not going through that again, alright? Call my office when you need something." Tony purses his lips in protest.

"Pepper, I _really_ don't think that—"

"No."

"Pep—"

" _No."_

Tony sighs and she sees him mouth,"o-kay" to himself before pocketing the phone. Pepper turns back to the kitchen, trying to grasp at the few remaining strings of normality, "Looks like take-out isn't an option, are you opposed to a frozen pizza? We probably have some of those around here." Pepper opens the freezer digging through the frozen vegetables for the box. Neither one of them care much for pizza, but they usually have one hanging around for instances when work becomes heavy.

She _knows_ there in here somewhere because she saw them last time she was digging through this and Tony doesn't believe in heating up meals by himself unless he's truly desperate.

There! After wrangling it from under a variety of frozen goods, she closes the freezer's door and sets the pizza on the counter, turning on the oven so it can preheat. She looks up, expecting Tony to be sitting at the counter like he usually is when he's present in the kitchen and she's cooking, but he's still at the couch.

Pepper frowns and moves towards it her bare feet trekking across the carpet silently. "Tony…?" She questions softly leaning over the piece of furniture to stare at him. He doesn't glance up at her, focused on the phone in his hands that he's quickly flipping through folders on. Digits of green spin upwards for a moment and Tony smirks mostly to himself before he lifts up the phone for Pepper to see.

"Look, look, look," He commands and the phone wobbles in his excited grip. Pepper bites her lip, it's times like these that she's painfully reminded that she is _very_ bad at programming.

"Okay," Pepper agrees and waits a moment. Even if she _did_ understand, Tony would explain it anyway.

"I knew it, I _knew_ they couldn't actually do it." Tony says quickly, his fingers quickly flipping through the coding and adding a few more digits. Tony looks up at her and grins a beautiful sight. It reminds her more of the Tony that she's used to. "She dragged out everything on my personal files when she was kicked out, Pep. I just have to tug here a little, and then…" Tony adds a few more digits to the long stream and Pepper's eyes widen.

"Good evening, Boss." Friday says.

Tony's shoulders slump with visibly relief, and Pepper squeezes his shoulder in victory. "You alright, Fri?" Tony questions.

Friday is quiet a moment, "My code is a little beat, but otherwise I'm well enough. Are you well?"

"Yeah," Tony reassures, "I'm okay."

Pepper closes her eyes in relief. One step forward. It's one of who knows how many, but it's _one._

Pepper bites her lip and can taste blood, "They're going to be here soon, Tony, the police. Where are we going to go?"

Tony's face falls considerably. "Right." He groans and runs a hand through his hair, "Pepper, I don't know. There's _no one_ that would help me. I...we're on our own. We can't leave the country and getting out of state is going to be nearly impossible. I've never been good at cov-op."

Pepper runs a hand through her hair in agitation. "We can't stay here."

"No," Friday agrees, "the FBI is en route to your location. You have a little under half an hour."

Tony and her share a look of desperation and frustration.

Pepper purses her lips and turns looking at the glowing red digits on the oven to see if it's preheated. No...but it gives her an idea. Red. Like a suit. Pepper clasps her hands together letting her hair fall in front of her face, "There is still someone." She says slowly. Her mind is whirring with the possibility, but she can't bring herself to reject it. Not yet.

Tony looks up at her inquisitively, "Really? _Who?"_

"Peter."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated on April 15, 2019**

* * *

Chapter Four:

"Peter?" May's voice calls softly as he opens the door to the apartment. The hallway is chill behind him, but it isn't as cold as the unsettled ache in his bones. Peter purses his lips and meets her eyes before turning to close the door. His back is to her, but he can feel her trivialized stare. The desire to groan and lean his head against the wood is severely tempting.

 _He is in so much trouble._

His ribs are still pulsing, his head aches, and summer has never sounded more appealing. Why isn't _that_ in the _Superhero's Guide to Being a Hero?_ Winter is terrible. Everything is _wet,_ everything is _cold,_ and the desire to find a volcano to hang out on is strong. He should write a guidebook. _Spider-Man's 101 Things to Avoid or be Aware of: Hero Addition._ It'll be glorious.

May's hand wraps around his shoulder and he jumps slightly before she turns him around. He's pretty sure that she wants to stare at his face, but he still has on his mask, though, so she can't. Read his face that is. May's expression is drawn in worry and exhaustion, but she brushes off some of the snow from his shoulders and head. "Are you hurt?" She asks.

Peter's ribs take that time to burn with a new passion, but he shakes his head. She's already dealt with enough of him tonight, they'll heal on their own, anyway. No worries. He's broken more bones than the bruises he has on his chest and survived. This is nothing. Not like after the building.

"No," He lies and she nods staring at him with slight disbelief before releasing him.

"Good, I'll make some cocoa, you sir, are going to get out of this." She says and grabs the fabric to the suit and tugging on it. A shiver runs down his spine at the sudden air over his shoulder and he bites his tongue to withhold a pained cry.

 _Stupid ribs_.

"You smell like a wet dog." May finishes.

He has no doubts of the sincerity of that statement.

Peter rolls his eyes before moving forward towards his room, struggling to keep his posture upright. Oh, man, it hurts. They definitely didn't feel like this before he left, if they did he wouldn't have ran off, or _moved,_ or well... _breathed._ _Augh!_

Peter struggles down the hallway wrapping a hand around the injured area, his vision slightly blurry from tears. He grabs the handle to his room and turns it open and then promptly falls forward hitting the ground with a fairly comical _thump_. His ribs burn worse and he curls his fingers into the carpet. Can he murder his nerves? It just hurts _so much._

"Mr. Parker, I believe your aunt should look at your ribs, the injury is getting worse." Karen's voice announces. Peter groans in response and closes the door with his feet before shoving himself up on his hands and knees. The world spins on its own for a moment, and Peter shakes his head, trying to clear the fuzziness. He's just tired. He needs some sleep and maybe a blanket, and then he'll be fine.

"No, she's already dealing with enough." Peter argues and looks at the bedframe a few feet away. He reaches forward and grabs it, tugging himself to his feet. Pain smacks across the bruised area and Peter hisses through his teeth.

It has _got_ to be more than bruises.

Broken.

Sprained?

"I do not believe this is a wise decision, Mr. Parker." Karen argues. Most of what he does, she doesn't.

Peter clenches his teeth together and looks at the closet. It's only a little more than seven feet, but right now it could've been miles. Peter lifts his hand up and aims his wrist forward before shooting webbing at a shirt. Peter tugs it off of the hanger towards himself and gives a small smirk of victory.

"Wow, most impressive, Mr. Parker. You are in too much pain to move." Karen snarks and Peter looks up at the ceiling in irritation. First May now her? _Really?_ He's just trying to protect May from this, she worries enough and if she panics _he_ panics and it doesn't end well for either of them. He just...he doesn't want her to think that he can't do this. He _can._

"Thanks, Karen." Peter says softly, both with heavy sincerity with traces of sarcasm. The AI is quiet a moment.

"You're welcome, Mr. Parker, but please tell your aunt."

It's a nice thought.

But no.

"We'll see," he answers without conviction.

Peter presses the spider on his chest and the AI goes quiet as the suit shuts off. He tugs it away from his skin and rises to his feet, grabbing the closest pair of pants he sees and pulls on the clothing purposefully not looking at the bruises. They're probably worse and he already knows what they look like anyway. He's not telling May.

Peter inhales, wincing at the stab before moving towards the door and mentally bracing himself. _Alright, Pete, you can do this. It's just your ribs and your internal organs and everything feels frozen. No biggie._

You must have a very different definition in mind.

Shut up.

 _Annd_ , he's talking to himself, _again._

Peter purses his lips and exhales.

 _One, two, three._

He shoves the door open and straightens his spine, wincing at the pain. Alright, vision is _not_ something to take for granted. Peter shoves through the doorway and staggers into the hallway, gnawing on his inner gums. _Don't cry out, don't cry out, don't cry out—_

Peter holds his tongue and presses his hand against the wall, gasping slightly and he leans against his hand for a moment. Breathe, breathe, breathe. This is much worse than he thought. It's okay, just a few days and he'll be back to normal. But he has to _move_ during that time.

Peter pushes himself forward and straightens his spine, forcing his hands down by his sides. It's fine, breathe, breathe—augh! It burns. Badly.

Peter steps into the kitchen bare feet making no noise against the tiles. May turns to look back at him, giving a small, strained smile. She pushes a cup in his direction and grabs another, moving past him towards the couch. Peter takes the cup from off of the counter, rubbing his thumb over the snowman imprinted over the front. Peter tilts the cup to his mouth and swallows the blissful substance. He doesn't taste it, only feels the warm sensation rushing through his stiff muscles.

Thank all that is good in this world for the person who invented hot chocolate.

Peter downs the cup quickly, and then leans against the counter taking pressure off of his burning chest. Maybe he should tell his aunt...this really—no. He's not going to. If it doesn't get better in a week, then he'll tell her.

That's final.

May's sitting on the couch; he can see her head of brown hair poking over the top of it. Peter smiles softly to himself and holds the empty cup enjoying the small amount of warmth it gives off.

"Pete, come here for a moment." May requests and Peter mentally winces at how calm her tone is.

Given the hour of the night, she's probably more than furious.

So here it is. The lecture. He's been waiting for the last few minutes for it. But...she doesn't sound angry...which is strange because after their fight earlier and then the whole he-ran-off-like-a-nincompoop for hours thing she should be. Why isn't she angry? She should be angry. He would be angry. No. She _is_ angry. Because she's quiet. And that's how she—

 _Shut up._

Peter rests the cup on the counter before moving forward towards the couch. This is starting to become a very familiar scene. Her sitting looking disappointed in him, and him sitting and getting a lecture than him ignoring said lecture only to get the same one again.

This isn't good.

And the only reason it keeps happening again is _him._

Peter sits on the couch. It's never felt more uncomfortable. He's slept on it dozens of times without a problem, but right now it could be a brick and he couldn't tell a difference. Maybe it's the fact that May looks like she's trying to solve a complicated math problem with dozens of variables she isn't sure what to do with.

Him.

He's the problem.

Per usual.

 _Why can't he just stop?_

At least he's warm now.

The suit has...well _had_ it's own heater in it, but when Peter smacked against the building four days ago he sort of broke it along with his ribs. Both of which are really important, surprisingly. But without Mr. Stark to fix it, and no time to look over it himself, he's just stuck with it. So long as he keeps moving he doesn't freeze to much.

May taps her fingers against the empty glass she has in hand before gnawing on her lower lip, she sighs and sets the cup against the coffee table. "How do I say this?" She mumbles, mostly to herself. Peter tenses.

Say... _what?_

If she's about to argue with him about Mr. Stark again he's going to lose it. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore...or think about it. Maybe he can get a hold of one of the other Avengers. He has Colonel Rhodes number, now that he's thinking on it. Mr. Stark gave it to him, " _in case you break something else and I'm not a available"._ And _why_ would Mr. Stark do that if he was a crazy evil mastermind? Does Colonel Rhodes know? Does he think that Mr. Stark's guilty—Oh man, _what if he is,_ and Happy's not answering because he doesn't want Peter to know?

Stop.

We agreed not to think about this, remember?

Peter presses his lips together and turns his attention to his aunt, who is still staring at the wall across from them with heavy interest. "Peter," May starts softly and meets his gaze, "you know I love you, right?"

Peter's thoughts come to a very unpoetic halt and he gives his aunt a confused look. Yes...should he not? She's his aunt. Sort of like the crazy older sister-parent figure. "Yes." Peter answers after a small hesitation. Was that the right answer? Does she want him to say no? He doesn't know _why_ she would, but all the same…

He's already made her angry enough.

May heaves a sigh of relief and gives a weak smile, "Good, Peter, I really don't want you to take what I'm about to say the wrong way, alright? Because I'm saying this because I love you."

Peter's stomach drops.

He doesn't know where this is going, but none of it point it a happy direction.

May licks her lips, and then says slowly: "I need you to give me the suit."

Peter whips his head up, heart pounding. What? No, no, no, no! And it _isn't_ him just being stupid, people _need_ Spider-Man. _He_ needs Spider-Man. Without his counterpart he just—just _can't_ do this. Spider-Man isn't another person, he and the hero are the same. If the Vulture innocent taught him anything it was that.

" _Why?"_ Peter chokes, it sounds like he's being strangled.

"Because I don't want you getting hurt." May says softly. Hurt? No. They both know it's inevitable. If _that's_ what she wanted she would have had him gift wrap it to her after the ankle-incident. So _why…?_

Oh gosh.

His hands fist. "You think that Mr. Stark rigged it." He states. The words sound cold off his tongue and make a small bubble of anxiety build. Because he _might've…_

 _Stop._

 _He didn't do it!_

May's guilty expression confirms his words. Her fingers flex with agitation. "Peter—" She starts in a soft sigh, but Peter rises to his feet.

"Mr. Stark didn't do it; he wouldn't! Can't you _see_ that!" He avers heatedly. But how is she _sure_ that Mr. Stark did it!? How can anyone just _believe_ the words without any doubts? It's not fair! Why can't he? Why is it so hard to decide?

 _Mr. Stark is innocent._

 _He has to be._

May's expression hardens, "Peter, this isn't some sort of joke, okay? This is a _real_ problem, with _real_ consequences, and you can't ignore that in favor of pretending that Mr. Stark is still who you want him to be, alright? Heroes aren't always who they say they are." She says, voice cold.

He nearly rears back from her.

Does she...does she _really_ think that he _pretended_ everything? He...he...it…

 _Did he?_

Heroes. Heroes. Heroes are _liars? (All of them? He's a hero.)_

"I know." Peter says through his clenched teeth, his fingers are going numb from how tightly their clenched. He can't draw up enough energy to care, though, focused on his aunt's rapidly growing stormy face.

"Do you?" May counters, "You're _so_ sure that Mr. Stark Stark is innocent because of the act he put up in front of you. The first sentence he said to me was a lie, Peter, and everything following after. Do you _really_ expect me to trust him?"

The Internship.

Right.

The _entire_ thing was a facade to get him to Germany.

"But—" Peter starts to protest, scrambling for reasons on _why_. Because Mr. Stark couldn't have done it... _right?_

Please, please, please.

"No!" May interrupts, also rising to her feet, "You are still a _child—"_

" _I'm fifteen!"_

"—and don't understand!" May shouts her fists clenching in her frustration, "Peter Benjamin Parker you will give me the Spider-Man suit, or so help me I will—!"

Both of them freeze as a knock sounds on the apartment door, May's shout dying in half a second. Ordinarily, such an action wouldn't have hindered an argument, but it's four thirty-three in the morning and fact that someone is here this late (early?) is bizarre.

A bomb going off could have had the same effect.

He and his aunt share a startled, wary look.

She grabs the baseball bat laying in a pile of not quite unpacked junk yet and brushes a hand through her messy hair, walking past him towards the door and stops, turning to look at him, "Rest assured, this conversation is not over."

He doesn't doubt it.

May grabs the handle and pulls the door open a little, and then her hand drops in shock. Peter tilts his head a little to look past her and his eyes widen with surprise. No _way._ Standing outside the apartment door hoods up to shade their familiar faces is _Mr. Stark and Mrs. Potts_.

What are they doing here!?

Mrs. Potts _knew!?_

He should have called her.

May inhales sharply, her hand tightening around the baseball bat before she stares at him with a look he can't quite interpret. Maybe frustration. Worry?

Mrs. Potts gives a tired smile, strawberry-blonde hair soaked and falling around her face. The two look freezing, but Peter just can't take his eyes off of Mr. Stark.

Because the man is _here._

He is less than ten feet from him. Neither one of them can see him from this angle though, so Peter's hidden. He's almost glad. A spark of anger hits him suddenly, sharp and coarse. Mr. Stark is absolutely _fine_ and had time to pick up Mrs. Potts before coming over here, but couldn't even drop a _hint_ to him of what was going on?

He sent _dozens_ of texts and calls to Happy.

And there was _nothing._

"What are you doing here?" May hisses, her voice dropping several levels. Her grip is white around the bat and Peter is mildly worried that she's going to strike them down with it. He's never seen her beat anyone up with the bat before, but he imagines that she wouldn't have a problem finding success.

"Hi," Mr. Stark says and flashes a weak smile, "is your nephew here?"

May's posture jumps into defensive, "No."

Anxiety stretches across Mr. Stark's face visibly, subtly, but Peter's watching his expression carefully. Peter's tongue catches at the top of his throat.

"Mr. Stark, I _demand_ you leave my property at once; I will call the police." May says venomously. Wait! Panic races through him like wildfire. But she doesn't _know_ yet. They don't have the story, Mr. Stark hasn't talked to him or anything and May can't just _kick them out_.

Peter _needs_ to know…

He _has_ to learn if they…

If Mr. Stark really—

Peter rushes up beside his aunt, coming into view of the couple and some of the tension on Mr. Stark's face deflates. "Mr. Stark," Peter says because he can't think of anything else to say. He wants to scream at the billionaire and demand answers then smack something and cry because the last few days have been living through a _nightmare_ and he couldn't _wake up._

All that wants to escape his throat is a low whine. He bites it back.

"Underoos." Mr. Stark dips his head and turns his attention back to his aunt. May's posture is tense her fingers curled around the wood of the door. The hallway is no sunny paradise and it's blowing a cold draft into the apartment.

Peter wraps his arms around himself and bites back a wince.

 _Stupid ribs._

"I'm sorry to intrude like this, Mrs. Parker, but we need a place to stay the night and we were hoping you would help us." Mrs. Potts says, more formally and like the businesswoman that she is. Both of them look terrible, though, and he half expects Mrs. Potts to collapse promptly after the last syllable slips through her lips. She doesn't. Her eyes are red and raw from the cold or tears and her hair is frozen slightly. Mr. Stark doesn't look much better, bruise-like bags are under his eyes and every part of him just screams, " _I am tired"!_ Yet Mr. Stark, somehow, looks relaxed. Peter can tell it is so obviously fake from his stance and the way his hand is wrapped around Mrs. Potts's like someone might rip her from him.

" _No_. I'm not hiding fugitives in my home. Mr. Stark, next time you think about selling weapons to terrorists, book yourself a hotel first." May gives a tight smile and moves to close the door, but Peter leaps forward and grabs the edge.

"No, _wait!"_ He protests. He can feel his aunt's glare at the back of his head, but he couldn't care less. He wants answers. He _needs_ to know if the last few months have been lies upon lies. He looks back at his aunt his eyebrows meeting in his distress. "One night."

She stares at him.

"Please."

"Peter, I—"

" _Please."_

"Peter—"

" _Please."_

May relents with a sigh and moves to the side to let both of them in. Mr. Stark guides his hand forward and Mrs. Potts walks in first, giving a relieved smile and dipping her head at May, "Thank you." Mr. Stark follows after, and May closes the door as Peter backs up against the wall letting the two pass. Mr. Stark, having been in the apartment a few times beforehand, leads his wife towards the kitchen leaning next to her ear and whispering something to her that's so low that Peter can't make much out beyond gibberish, even with his enhanced hearing, Mrs. Potts hisses something back. Peter turns back to his aunt, pursing his lips together.

May's hands are folded over her chest, and, as the sink runs she snorts with frustration or dead humor. She looks over at Peter clenching her jaw further. She leans towards him, "I don't like this, Peter." She whispers the edge of her tone hard, voice quiet. "We could go to jail."

Oh man.

They _could._

Mr. Stark is a terr—

 _He's not._

 _Stop doing that._

Peter bites his lip, "I need to know if he did it, May." He admits quietly.

"Oh, I know the answer to that." May says coldly. "But please, be my guest and ask him."

Peter's shoulders slump at her answer, and he moves towards the kitchen anxiety building up in his stomach. He could've just let a murderous weapons dealer into his house and felt _relief_ when he saw him. What if Mrs. Potts agrees with what he's doing?

What if it was an act between the two of them?

What if—!?

Peter reaches the counter where the two are on the other side. Mr. Stark's running his hands under warm water and Mrs. Potts drinking water from a glass she found somewhere. Peter stands behind the counter folding his arms over his chest, ignoring his stupid ribs, and biting his lower lip. Mrs. Potts rests the glass in the sink and gives Peter a small smile. She moves towards the other side of the counter wet hair dripping onto the granite. Her expression is painfully tight, but her eyes do hold the sincerity her expression just can't seem to make out. "How are you, Peter?"

 _Absolutely awful with a side of frustrated. You?_

A light huff escapes him, and raises an eyebrow, "How do you think?"

A pool of guilt forms in his stomach at Mrs. Potts crestfallen face. "I um," Peter says, trying to correct the mistake, "did you guys walk here?"

Mrs. Potts and Mr. Stark share a look. "Yes." Mr. Stark answers hesitantly. At Peter's incredulous look he explains: "None of the cabs would take us."

Ha.

Fair.

"You should have taken the subway," Peter says.

Mr. Stark pulls his hands back from the water clenching and unclenching them his expression slightly pained. He masks it with a small smirk before turning to meet Peter's gaze. Peter is slightly surprised at just how...searching it is. As if looking for injuries or some sort of "wrong". Peter straightens his posture slowly, trying to get the awkward hunch out of it from his burning ribs.

After about five seconds, Mr. Stark, apparently satisfied with...whatever he was looking for, grabs a towel from off of the countertop, and then his smirk twitches, "Yeah probably. Did you know that frostbite gets the toes and fingers first? I think it's rather rude of the body to ditch them before anything else, honestly. I rather like them."

Peter clenches his fists, digging his nails into his upper arms. Is he stalling? Trying to withhold the truth as long as possible? _Why_ is this so hard!?

May walks up behind him and sends the couple a glare, "Answers. Now."

Mr. Stark's face of indifference falls considerably and Mrs. Potts glances at her husband in concern. Peter's heart sinks. He did it, he's guilty, that's why he's—oh man. He's an idiot for thinking otherwise...for defending him. Did he come here to get them arrested?

Is he…

Stop.

He's not—

Mr. Stark clenches his fists, looking at May for a moment before his gaze rests on Peter studying him carefully. The open panic must be visible on his face, Peter has a terrible poker-face. It was one of many reasons he put on a mask. Peter tries to cover up the building anxiety with a glare, but it's not working. It's probably one of the most pathetic angry faces to date.

Peter lowers his gaze from the couple's faces and stares down at the ground. Wow, they have such and interesting floor, why don't people take more time to appreciate floors more?

"Peter," Mr. Stark says softly. Peter stops looking at the tile underneath his socks, raising his brown eyes to meet Mr. Stark's. "I didn't ship out the weapons." His voice is firm, serious, and unshakeable. Peter doesn't break the stare for a moment studying the billionaire's face. His expression is sincere, his eyes locked onto Peter's and almost challenging.

Peter's stomach flips with relief.

The anxiety pulling at his shoulders eases.

May purses her lips, "Or are you just saying that to win his trust so you can stab him in the back again?"

Mr. Stark takes a step back in visible surprise. Mrs. Potts looks back at him with concern and he shakes his head back and forth several times. "No. I'm innocent, May. I don't know how I can prove it to you and you have no other proof than my word but for once I'm being completely honest with you: _I was framed."_

His tone is hard and has an edge of desperation Peter's never heard before. Relief settles in the ball of anxiety.

Mr. Stark's innocent.

Peter closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. Everything is okay now. Mr. Stark is _here_ he's safe, he's _not lying,_ and the worrying panic that's been building for days quells. Yes, he's still wanted by the government and if anyone gets _whiff_ that he's here, a SWAT team will tear their apartment apart in less than two minutes, but, for right now, everything is going to be okay.

"If you didn't do it, Mr. Stark, what happened, then?" May asks and Peter opens his eyes at it. Her tone isn't as hard as before but still has an edge. Mr. Stark drums his fingers over the top of the countertop a moment. May doesn't back down and Peter slowly draws his arms around his ribs.

 _Yes! I am aware you hurt, can you just_ shut up!

He looks up at Mr. Stark whose expression looks frustrated and wandering. Still. It's just so unnatural on the man's face and Peter's not entirely sure what to do about it.

Mr. Stark lets out an awkward laugh, "Yeah, that's a bit of a long story."

Mrs. Potts sighs and leans against the counter turning so she's staring at Mr. Stark. Peter can see the frustration and support in her gaze. Mr. Stark glances at her before looking at May again. The older Parker raises a singular eyebrow, an expression Peter's come to know as the final fuse before the bomb explodes.

"Someone, I'm still working on who, hacked into my files, bypassed Friday, then added a virus to the system that wiped covered any existing data there. They leaked the information to Ross and I assume both of you have seen the news at least once in the last few days." Mr. Stark says giving a weak smirk at the end.

Peter's brain spins.

Wait.

Someone hacked into _Tony Stark's_ files?

 _How?_

Peter's attempted it a few times as a joke and got pretty far before he hit the second or so layer of security and his brain just died. The programming is utterly breathtaking. There is _no way_ that...and someone did. Well, _amazing._

Peter bites his lip and exhales.

May taps her fingers against her upper arm for a moment. Her expression hasn't changed and she purses her lips together before looking at Mrs. Potts, "And you believe this?"

Mrs. Potts nods, "I do. Do you think I'd be here if I didn't?"

May shrugs, "I don't know. Stark Industries is a shady company. I don't trust your story, Mr. Stark," she says and Mr. Stark opens his mouth to protest, but May lifts up her hand, "but I'll do my best to try, for Peter. But know this," May leans on the countertop, "if you're lying, I will personally beat you up with a barbed baseball bat and leave your body to dry out next to my shower curtain as I get a SWAT team here."

Mr. Stark lifts up his hands in surrender and backs up slightly, "Yes, point taken." He assures.

May straightens her spine, "Good. Peter, go dig up some blankets from the closet, I hope you don't mind sleeping on the floor."

Peter moves forward to get his aunt's request barely hearing Mrs. Potts's: "Yes, that's fine." and Mr. Stark's: "Cool, aching backs."

Peter opens the closet door, wincing lightly as his ribs string with pain.

Right.

Nope. He didn't forget about the bruises. Broken bones? Sprain?

Whatever it is, he didn't forget.

Peter closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he dares for a moment.

 _Ow, ow, ow._

Blankets, he's here for blankets. Peter quickly scans the shelves, eyes jumping over the various boxes before the pile of blankets shoved towards the semi-middle grasps his attention. It's not on the bottom, good. Leaning down is a little more than a nice thought right now. Peter grabs a handful of the blankets and turns closing the door with the edge of his foot before moving back towards the kitchen.

May turns to him giving a small nod of thanks as she takes the blankets from his arms and hands it to the Starks. "Living room floor. You break anything and you pay for it." She says.

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at the threat in near sync with Mrs. Potts slight twitch of her right one. May raises her hands in frustration, "Billionaire, whatever. I am going to bed and I still want this to be standing when I wake up. Good night." May turns and places a kiss on Peter's forehead grabbing his shoulders almost aggressively before she releases him and turns, storming down the hall towards her room. The door closes firm and loudly and Peter winces.

Mr. Stark lets out a soft laugh, "She's a real ball of sunshine in the morning, isn't she?"

Peter sighs. Yes, typically. But she's had to stay up later the last few nights because of _him_ and his stupid mental traumas. Why can't he just _get over it?_

Mrs. Potts shifts the blanket she has in her hands and Peter blinks, "It's almost five in the morning and neither one of us has gone to bed yet. I think she has a right to be." The slight defensiveness rises suddenly and Peter struggles to stuff it down before more stupid stuff slips from his lips.

Mr. Stark's eyebrows meet in confusion and Mrs. Potts tilts her head slightly. _Annd_ now their curious as to _why_ they were up. Peter has no plans to explain... _it_ to them, nor does he really want to. He turns on his heel and starts to stagger down the hall doing his best intention of a walk turning his head back slightly to let two words slip from his clenched teeth, "Good night."

Peter opens his door and collapses against the mattress as soon as he sees it. Relief rushes through him and he lets out a soft moan of happiness. Ah, bed, it's been so long.

Peter rolls onto his back staring up at the dark ceiling. Mr. Stark isn't guilty. The thought makes relief wash through him along with slight hope. Mr. Stark wasn't lying, which means that the last few months haven't been deceit.

Why would someone go to all the effort to frame Tony Stark, though? Hacking into his systems isn't an easy feat, there's layers upon layers of security and Friday, but there's still the buzzing, more important question of: _Who did it?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated April 15, 2019.**

* * *

Chapter Five:

Peter lays on the bed for hours, but doesn't sleep.

The idea appeals, his body is exhausted, and everything screams, " _please sleep!",_ but his mind refuses to listen to the pleas. It's frustrating how elusive sleep can be sometimes. He doesn't want to dream, obviously, but his mind is still spinning and trying to take everything in, so sleep? Sleep is not happening.

Around an hour and a half after he laid down, Peter sits up, frustration pouring through his veins. His schoolwork is almost done, but he still needs to finish a thing here and there; it's also a school day so he needs to get up and _go._ But he doesn't want to. He wants to stay here, in the apartment, and not move for the next few days. Or years.

Whichever one requires less strain on his ribs.

Oh, man, they _burn_ with an aching power. Yesterday, yesterday was nothing. It could've been compared to wandering through a field of flowers with rainbows in the sky. But after sitting here, and doing nothing, the strain has grown the point every breath feels like it's shattering his insides.

And he needs those. And wants them.

Peter drums his fingers over his knee, tugging his long sleeve shirt over his fingertips. He didn't change clothes from yesterday—well, technically today—and feels little desire to. Peter wraps his arms around himself, partially from pain and the other part from cold. Apparently the snow isn't just a light dusting, it _was_ falling pretty heavily when Mrs. Potts and Mr. Stark got into the apartment. He checked before he went to bed.

Peter glances at his clock. Six fifteen. He should get up now. School starts in a little less than an hour and a half, and since he's walking (oh man, he's _walking)._ Maybe he can borrow a horse or something.

 _Brilliant idea, Pete. Where are you going to get a horse?_

No clue.

 _See?_

Peter rolls his eyes at his thoughts and stares at the door to his room. Has it always been so far away? Maybe it's just because he has to stand up straight to get there. He could say that he's playing the Hunchback for Halloween. Just preparing...ten months early. That's never going to work, and wouldn't leaning over feel worse, anyway?

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, running a hand through his tangled hair. He should get up. He needs to get ready so he can walk. Peter slowly rises to his feet, pain exploding across his chest. He hisses and his vision blurs. Okay. Just.. _.slowly._

Peter bites on his tongue and straightens his spine. _Breathe, breathe, breathe._

 _I can't!_

He releases a shaky breath through his painfully tight lungs and looks at the door. _You can do this, Pete, you battled the Vulture worse off._ Peter releases the edge of his messy bed and takes a slow step forward. He grimaces at the pain and chews on his lower lips.

Peter makes it a few more steps before the pressure in his chest becomes too much and he crashes into the wall. The sound makes a heavy _thump_ and Peter pauses. The silence around him is almost painful, but he listens. _No one come running, please._

The halls stay silent.

Peter exhales in relief.

Hopefully everyone is asleep. His aunt won't be for much longer, though, if she remembered to set an alarm. If not, he'll leave her a note. Peter opens his pinched eyes and grasps the handle to the door.

It's alright, school is seventy percent sitting anyway. Ned may even be there again today. Michelle won't be back until after Christmas, her family went to Wyoming and has no plans to return quickly. She hadn't sounded to excited, and judging from the few texts she's sent him, she still isn't.

Peter purses his lips and pulls the door open. He stumbles into the dark hallway, slightly thankful his eyes are already adjusted to the dark, otherwise he'd be crashing into walls and tripping over imaginary things again. He has the grace of a sad chicken.

There's a light shining from down hall, though, and Peter's eyebrows meet in confusion. May's not already up, is she? He didn't hear her door open and with his enhanced senses, he should've. And why didn't she hear him crash into the wall? It wasn't a silent thump.

Peter moves forward curiously. The pain is still there, oh yeah, but it's not as firm as before. As...stiff.

Peter steps into the kitchen, blinking at the bright light and lifting a hand up to shield his eyes. Stinging, lot's of stinging. It should be labeled as torture to flick on the light to someone who's been sitting in the dark for a long time. Peter's eyebrows shoot up slightly in surprise as he spots Mrs. Potts sitting on one of the stools, her back facing him. Her hands are folded across the countertop and her head is rocking; but it's barely a noticeable movement.

Peter walks forward slowly his socks making little sound against the carpet and tiles. Where's Mr. Stark? What is she doing up? She looks exhausted. She should be sleeping. Then again, Peter probably doesn't look much better. He doesn't know her that well, maybe she gets up early. She's CEO of a huge company and married to and Avenger, she's probably an early riser.

Peter tenses.

Should he intrude? He can't see her expression. Maybe she doesn't want the company. Is Mr. Stark still asleep?

After a moment of debate, Peter moves forward and leans against the edge of the counter mentally sighing with relief as the pressure is taken from his spine to his arms. Note to self for today: lean against as many things as possible.

Mrs. Potts lifts up her gaze to him, her expression flipping to slightly startled. "I didn't hear you come in." She whispers, her eyes are slightly distant and Peter gives a soft hum. She's worried about something. Probably. He nearly smacks his forehead in annoyance. Well _obviously. Mr. Stark's been framed and could get an unjust life sentence in prison for it, you think she's going to throw a party?_

Peter shrugs and manages to hide his wince with a slight twitch of his fingers. Do they have ice he can put on it? Would that make it feel better, or is it heat at this point? They learn it again and again in PE, but Peter doesn't...really pay as much attention to that as he should. It's been the same information since seventh grade.

"Is Mr. Stark still asleep?" Peter asks, in the same voice level as Mrs. Potts. He _knows_ that Mr. Stark insists on him calling him by his first name, but it just sound so weird. He knows the man better now than before Homecoming, but it's still awkward. He doesn't feel like he's up there on a first name basis with him yet even though Mr. Stark insists and reminds him every time. Save last night, his mind was in other places though. Like Peter's.

Mrs. Potts nods softly, bangs falling in front of her face. Peter's never seen her this...well human like. On TV she's always in ridiculously expensive clothing not a hair out of place and strides through everything like she's queen. Now? Now she just looks like someone whose been overworked to near death and been promised more. Her hands are clasped together on the countertop and she sighs.

"I really am sorry for this." She says softly. Peter tilts his head slightly. He doesn't mind, it's better than not knowing the truth or worrying. No. Wait. He's still worried. Yes. He is. But it's not as bad. As before, that is. Yeah.

Okay.

"I don't mind, really, Mrs. Stark." Peter assures quietly. Mrs. Potts gives a small smile.

"Pepper."

Peter glances to the left for a moment in confusion, "What?"

"Call me Pepper, if we're going to barge in here we should at least be on a name-to-name basis." Mrs. Potts answers, her voice still quiet. It isn't hard to make out with his enhanced hearing, however.

Peter nods before wringing his fingers together, "Why are you up?"

Mrs. Potts stills slightly, her posture becoming tighter. Her eyes flash with a strong distaste to the subject and Peter almost feels guilty for bringing it up, but at the same time. If there's something they should know…

Mrs. Potts sighs softly and lowers her head. "I couldn't sleep."

Liar.

"Why?" Peter prods, feeling oddly pushy. Usually he would just let the subject drop but for some reason Mrs. Potts looks like she needs to spit out whatever it is that's bothering her. Even if she doesn't want to. Peter's had moments where he's wished people would just push him a little harder even if it drives him crazy.

Mrs. Potts chews on her lower lip for a moment before looking up at Peter looking slightly irritated. "You aren't going to stop until I tell you, are you?"

Peter's lip twitches on a smirk, "Nope."

Mrs. Potts shakes her head slightly, a small smile on her lips before the expression drops completely and the bone-tired one takes its place again. "I...night terror." She finally admits. Peter barely keeps his mouth from freely dropping.

Mrs. Potts...she... _it..._ what?

She has nightmares?

But she's...Pepper Potts. She runs a multi-billionaire company, her husband is Iron Man, she has met the President, spoken with the _Avengers,_ and she's a flipping idol. She's...human. She...it…

 _It's not just him?_

After Homecoming he couldn't— _can't—_ sleep, but he thought he was just pathetic because he couldn't...but _she—_

Nightmares.

Mrs. Potts has nightmares.

And why _wouldn't_ she? She knows the Avengers. Peter has heard on the news of more than one of her kidnappings. And everything else with Mr. Stark and...yeah.

He's no stranger to the feeling of helplessness and knowing that even though it's _over,_ but it didn't really go away, it just sits there building up. "Did you tell Mr. Stark?" Peter asks. Mrs. Potts's eyebrows meet for a second, stressed before she gives her head a slow shake.

"No, no, he already feels terrible about what happened." Mrs. Potts plays with the edge of her long sleeved red shirt. Alrighty then; Peter has no idea what it could've been about. Mr. Stark doesn't have a small list of enemies. Peter doesn't know what to do to make her feel better, Mr. Stark would though. Peter's helped May through some, Uncle Ben's death didn't come and go with party supplies.

 _(It came with trauma and May's tears and his powers. It came with Spider-Man and death, and graves and May's inability to stop crying, it came with—)_

Peter hums slightly and turns to the kitchen. Through the window he can only see the gusts of white blurring past looking like it has little intention of stopping. When he was coming home last night it'd started snowing, but didn't really get bad until after he was about three minutes from the apartment. It hasn't stopped.

Peter and Mrs. Potts turn their heads towards the hallway in near sync as a door opens. May steps out, blinking at the light and stumbles into the kitchen barely sparing him a glance, but double takes as she sees Mrs. Potts. May's outfit's changed from the one she was wearing last night to something warmer; apparently he wasn't the only one who noticed the cold.

It's December, though, so he's not really surprised. It's not like people go running down streets in swimsuits in New York in this month. If they did, they'd be crazy or just really enjoy frostbite. May sends a small distasteful look in Mrs. Potts's direction before turning back to Peter lifting a phone in his face.

Peter backs up on instinct he's earned from months of fighting criminals and then forces his muscles to relax. His shoulders are still hunched and he bites down on his lower lip to keep back the cry of pain that _oh so desperately_ wants to escape his lips. He can't keep pretending for much longer.

May's phone is still in his face, but he can't make out any of the blurry letters from the slight dizziness he's had since he sat up this morning. "Uh…?" Peter manages to let the profound sound from his mouth in question and May blinks several more times, looking half asleep.

"School's cancelled. Snow broke the power and backup generator's not working, the heater's not starting. They'll call me to let me know when it's up and running again." May answers in a normal tone of voice. The sudden flare of volume makes him flinch, stupid ears, why do they have to be so _sensitive._

Snow day.

A _snow day._

 _Thank you anyone who is listening above._

Peter curls his fingers into fists and May turns the phone off and pockets it. "You hungry?" She asks, and then turns to Mrs. Potts, "Where's your husband?"

Mrs. Potts gives a nonchalant shrug, "Asleep."

May hums in answer, though she doesn't seem to really care. She turns back to Peter, "So?"

Food. Right.

His stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought. He doesn't feel like eating, which is weird because for the longest time he always struggled with keeping up with his enhanced metabolism. Peter shakes his head softly at his aunt's question and she raises an eyebrow looking slightly more awake than before. "You didn't eat dinner last night; I'll make some pancakes." May declares and Peter moves back against the counter wincing as the edge digs into his bruised back.

This is becoming an issue, he wishes it would just _go away._

May grabs the bowl from a cupboard and Mrs. Potts rises to her feet moving past Peter to his aunt, "Can I help?"

May swings her head towards the Stark so quickly Peter almost misses the movement. Her eyebrows are raised so high that Peter's worried that they might launch off his face. Her finger's grip on the bowl is slipping and her long brown hair falls in front of her face before she lets the skeptical question slips out, "You can cook?"

Mrs. Potts nods, but her voice slightly irritable, "Yes."

"Don't you have chefs or something to do that for you?" May asks and Mrs. Potts raises an eyebrow. Peter, under normal circumstances, would have been amused watching the two stubborn woman argue, but right now all he can focus on is _pain_.

"Mrs. Parker, I am just as capable of dumping ingredients in a bowl as the next person." Mrs. Potts says and May rolls her eyes. And there it is, the: _I-take-no-crap-from-anyone_ Mrs. Potts's famous for. May finally withdraws her verbal claws, tossing a stray hair from her face.

"Fine, the recipe is in the book over there." May says and gestures towards said book laying on top of a box of what Peter's pretty sure is canned peaches. Peter resists the urge to smirk and backs up slightly closing his eyes and inhaling sharply.

Slowly, Parker.

 _S-l-o-w._

Put that in the hero's guidebook: " _do not take chest injuries lightly"_.

Peter tucks his hands in close to his chest and leans against the counter so his back is to the living room and watches Mrs. Potts and May work together on the recipe. About three minutes pass with little argument from the two of them before Peter hears footsteps behind him. Mr. Stark's awake, then?

Peter would look back at him, but if he twists his spine, he's going to collapse. And then probably rip something apart. _That_ will likely be his scalp.

"You know, that's a time bomb." Mr. Stark says and leans against the counter in Peter's peripheral vision. Peter snorts halfheartedly. Yep.

Mrs. Potts looks up at him at the same time as May; the former holding the bowl and whisk and the latter a spatula. Both send him a small glare then look beyond determined to disprove his statement. "So, sleeping beauty finally rises." May says sardonically. "You could sleep through a hurricane."

Err. They've been up for about ten minutes now?

Mrs. Potts sends an irritated look in May's direction before she resumes the stirring and Mr. Stark snorts, "How else do you think I get this perfectly styled hair?"

"I dunno, a wig." May answers. She's really on one today, the lack of sleep must be catching up to her. And guess whose fault _that is?_ Shut up.

Mr. Stark slaps a hand over his heart in mock hurt. " _Rude._ "

"Grow up, you big baby." Mrs. Potts says with a roll of her eyes yet somehow manages to shoot her husband a fond look as she does so. Mr. Stark sticks his tongue out at her in response and turns his body so his side is leaning against the counter and he's looking at Peter. Does he have to focus on him? Mrs. Potts and May are _much_ more interesting. Mr. Stark, however, doesn't read his thoughts.

"Aren't you supposed to be heading for school?" Mr. Stark asks and Peter's fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. _Please don't integrate me, if I open my mouth I'm going to scream._

He braces himself before releasing the tension on his fingers.

"Powers out, and the backup generators aren't working." Peter answers stiffly. _Please stop._ Breathe, breathe, breathe. It's not the end, he's dealt with worse. He's had a building collapse ontop of him. He's _fine._ It's _all_ fine.

He can't see Mr. Stark's expression. but he can picture the eyebrow raise, "You don't sound too excited." Does he _have_ to be? "Isn't that every teenager's dream? To have a few days off from school without it being a holiday?"

Peter bites his lip slightly and tenses. Mr. Stark is quiet for a moment, "Peter? Are you listening? Hey," Mr. Stark leans forward and carelessly jabs him in the side. The finger barely brushes against it before pain explodes through his veins, _pulsing, aching,_ and—

His legs don't hold his battered, bruised body anymore and Peter collapses to his knees. Someone is screaming. Will they stop? His ears are aching, everything is _too bright._ Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Voices are talking around him; someone is calling his name. No, more than one person.

Something touches his shoulder and Peter convulses forward digging his chest into his knees. _To bright, to bright, to bright_. Will they _shut up!?_

His ears are ringing.

 _Stop. Talking._

 _Shh._

 _His ears ache._

Peter wants to snap his hands over them, but if he moves his arms, he doesn't want to know what will happen to the pain in his chest. It's helping it, right? No, not really. Everything hurts, and hurts, and _hurts._

It's not going away!

Can't it stop!? _Please!_

Peter gasps suddenly, pain echoing through his tight lungs and he exhales his breathing erratic. Everything is spinning or blurry and he can't _think._

Abruptly, his senses snap to a normal level and Peter gasps again, trying to suck in air that just isn't _coming._

"Peter! Peter? Answer me, what's wrong?" His aunt's worried voice is talking into his ear and Peter clenches his fists. Her hand is against his upper back. Peter's chest is tucked against his chest and he slowly blinks his eyes open staring at the tile on the ground. The dark, ugly, white color meets his gaze happily and Peter exhales shakily.

 _Well, great._

Peter slowly raises his body into a sitting position, grimacing at the sparks of pain that burst through his chest.

Busted.

Peter slowly meets the eyes of his aunt on his right on her knees, her eyebrows are meeting in her distress and worry is written across her face like an essay. Her eyes are locked onto him and Peter slowly shifts his gaze from hers to Mrs. Potts who's kneeling down in front of him the spatula in hand. Her expression almost perfectly mimics May's.

May's going to murder him. Painfully.

Peter finally drags his gaze to Mr. Stark's. Mr. Stark is on his knees, too, bed head sprouting upwards in all glory his expression knit in worry and slight guilt. Mr. Stark shifts his hand forward to grab his shoulder, "Peter—"

" _Don't touch him_!" May slaps the billionaires hand away her hand on his back tightening.

"May," Peter murmurs quietly, "it's not his fault. I'm fine, I'm just tired from last night. I didn't expect him to touch me."

May looks ready to argue it for the next few years, but Peter releases his chest forcing his face to be indifference. "Yeah, I'm sure." Mr. Stark says sarcastically beside him. "Peter, I'm amazed you managed to keep your hero-ing a secret for so long. You are a _terrible_ liar."

"And is that really a bad thing?" May challenges.

"I-I'm fine, I promise, really." Peter assures and lifts his head up as Mrs. Potts turns to look at Mr. Stark sharing a skeptical look. Her husband, in response, lifts up a phone. It's not _his_ phone though, Peter's stolen it a dozen times and knows what it looks like better than his. Why doesn't he have his phone?

"Friday, scan for injuries."

Peter meets the billionaires gaze frantically, "Wait—" He starts to protest. He doesn't want his aunt to know, or them, or _anyone_. It was embarrassing enough to explain to May that he got hit in the face with a trash can lid because he was so tired he was seeing double; though he didn't mention the last part. If he has to explain it all _again..._ no. He refuses.

 _This is humiliating!_

"Mr. Parker is currently suffering from severely bruised ribs, minor malnutrition, extreme exhaustion, a healing head injury and multiple bruises, to name the more severe symptoms, Boss." Friday's voice isn't toneless, but Peter can't figure out what it is that she's speaking with.

Peter bites back his protest. He _really_ doesn't want to deal with this right now. They have more important things to deal with. Like Mr. Stark's framing and the pancakes that are bound to light on fire in the next few moments.

May sighs and lets her hand drop into her free hand, " _Peter."_

The disappointment in her voice is strong. What? He was just trying to solve them the trouble of going to the doctor. It costs money that they _don't have._ Peter gnaws on his inner lip. He hates costing money, _despises it._ There barely scraping by anyway, throwing in a hospital visit _won't help with that_.

Besides, _there is nothing wrong._

Peter looks down at the tile again, "They're starting to smoke." He mumbles.

"What?" May asks, there's a pause, and then she leans forward with a yelp snatching the spatula from Mrs. Potts's grip and moving towards the grill frantically.

"Did you wrap it?" Mr. Stark asks suddenly and Peter jerks his head up at the question.

Nope. He did not. He should've. Did he? No. He just assumed his healing factor would fix everything, but he has successfully kept his body from doing anything about it. No food: no fuel, no rest: no time to heal. "No," Peter answers and Mr. Stark lowers the phone.

He looks...miffed is the right word. Peter isn't sure what is.

"What happened?" Mr. Stark asks and Peter digs his teeth deeper into his lip for a moment.

"I smashed into a building." He answers honestly. No reason to dig into _why,_ right?

Mr. Stark sighs and for a moment it looks like he's going to dig deeper, but he doesn't, "Can you stand?"

Peter grinds his teeth together, "Yes."

 _No._

Mrs. Potts sighs and shifts forward grabbing one of his hands and swinging it over her shoulder. Being shorter than Mr. Stark—if only by a little—it's probably a better decision. His aunt is taller than Mrs. Potts by an inch or so as well. Peter's shoulder tenses from the sudden contact. Mrs. Potts slowly rises to her feet tugging Peter with her and he wraps his free hand around his ribs hissing.

Mrs. Potts slowly leads him towards the couch as Mr. Stark rises to his feet, "You have ice, right?" He calls to May who's working on scraping the what—was—pancakes off of the grill. Peter doesn't look back at them.

"Freezer, top shelf."

"I didn't think it'd be in the fridge."

Mrs. Potts slowly helps Peter stumble across the space to the living room that has a mess of blankets piled on the floor. The coffee table's shifted towards the wall, but other than that there's little difference from last night. Mrs. Potts kicks some of the blankets to the side and slowly lowers Peter onto the couch, sitting down next to him. She has a concerned yet frustrated look on her face that reminds Peter strongly of May.

Peter wraps his arm around his ribs. This is _humiliating_. He can pull a plane out of the sky, battle a man with a broken wrist, ribs and fractured calf, but minor bruising? Throws him off rocket majorly. Why isn't the stupid healing factor working?

He ate recently, right? Peter scrambles to remember, he had lunch yesterday...he thinks. If not lunch then he did have dinner the night before. Peter sighs through his teeth before his spider sense blares through his head like a bomb exploding in his brain. Peter ducks per its command and the ice pack that was aimed for his head smacks into Mrs. Potts's arm.

"Hey!" Said Stark rages and Peter lifts his head to look as Mr. Stark raises his hands in a "I surrender" way.

"Sorry, aiming for his head."

" _Why!?_ " Mrs. Potts demands as she grabs the icepack, re-positions the cloth around it, and then hands it to Peter without looking at him. It looks like she's had a lot of practice doing so.

"Um, hmm, I don't know; because he's an idiot." Mr. Stark says in retort to Mrs. Potts's comment and Peter looks up at the billionaire a glare spreading across his face.

Can he make it _one flipping day_ without insisting that Peter's an amateur or somehow _below_ him?

In some distant part of his mind, Peter's full on aware that he's exaggerating, but he just _doesn't care._ Everything hurts, he hasn't slept for more than an hour or two in over two weeks and they aren't making anything easier. Did the person have to frame Mr. Stark _right now?_ Why not next week, when Peter's slept some more and his ribs don't hurt?

Peter presses the ice against his ribs pulling his wandering thoughts back to the present and a small hiss escapes his teeth. The ice is _cold._ He's already cold. Maybe he can just go lay down in some snow and it'll have the same effect, it worked slightly yesterday.

Peter blinks lazily looking at Mr. Stark's furious face and then glances at Mrs. Potts's blank one. Her eyes are just as angry though. Did someone say something? Peter wasn't paying attention. Ah, great, what if it was important? _Was it?_ It looks like it was.

 _Poof balls._

Mr. Stark swivels his attention from his wife to Peter as he shifts slightly and releases an angered breath, "You realize that _this,"_ he gestures wildly towards Peter's torso from his standing position about five feet away, "qualifies as an injury you should see a doctor for, right?"

Yes.

He knows.

Is he going to see one? No.

Peter flicks his gaze to his feet.

"Peter." Mr. Stark's frustrated voice drags him back and Peter blinks hazily.

He's tired.

He's _really, really,_ tired. Maybe he can convince them all to yell at him later, he just wants to _sleep._ Is that wrong? Humans need sleep, and Peter is human...well mostly.

His body suddenly feels heavy and Peter is slipping forward his hand sliding away from the icepack pressed against his ribs. Funny, they don't hurt as much anymore, he just needs _sleep._ It's a glorious thing that far too many people take for granted. "Peter?"

Peter jerks his head up and blinks a few more times to clear the blur, "Yes." He says. That was the answer to the question right? Should it have been no? No, he doesn't think so. Mr. Stark asked him about a doctor, right.

Mr. Stark raises his hands in frustration, "You're not even listening, are you?"

Peter sits up straighter stuffing down his wince, "Not really." He admits.

"He does that." May calls from the kitchen and Peter resists the urge to groan and smack his head against something because A: that would hurt and B: he has to move to do it. Why is everyone insistent on picking on him? He's _fine._

A little bruised, yeah, but _fine._

He's not _dying._

Mr. Stark runs a hand through his hair again, pacing back and forth, across the messy ground and releases a few breaths. "Tony—" Mrs. Potts starts softly, but he lifts up a hand to silence her and then turns stopping in front of them.

"Why did you smash into a building? Were you running?" Mr. Stark asks and Peter gives him a confused look.

Uh...no.

He couldn't _see._

There's a difference.

"No," Peter says and doesn't elaborate. Does he need to? _Why_ is Mr. Stark is obsessed with this? He usually only laughs when Peter gets injured unless it's serious (and when it's not it's usually because he's clumsy), _which this is not._

Will he just let it drop?

Please?

Mrs. Potts sighs through her nose and Mr. Stark folds his arms over his chest tapping his fingers against his upper arms before May lets out a victorious shout behind them. Mrs. Potts twists around as Peter turns his head and May lifts up the spatula giving a sheepish smile. "I got the burned ones off." She explains.

Peter nods slowly. Okay. Awesome. Unimportant, but cool. He turns back facing forward and presses the ice a little firmer against his ribs. Note to self: Ice is a miracle worker. Saved lemonade, Captain America, and his ribs. Peter, _focus._

Mrs. Potts clasps her hands together and props them against her knees, eyes distant.

Mr. Stark stops pacing, again, coming to halt in front of them, "Friday said that that's at least five days old, they weren't into my systems until four days ago. Why didn't you call?"

Peter clenches his jaw and looks up at the ceiling in irritation. Because he doesn't call Mr. Stark about _every little injury_ that he gets. It's not like the billionaire is going to drop everything and run if he gets a paper cut.

"Will you just drop it, _please?_ I'm fine, alright?" Peter's voice is sharper than he means for it to be.

"No, you're not ' _fine.'"_ Mr. Stark mimics last word, his voice almost scarily similar to his own.

"Why are you so worried anyway?" Peter challenges "It'll be gone in a few days."

"I'm not—" Mr. Stark starts to argue, but cuts himself off turning his head in his frustration. He opens his mouth and hesitates for a moment before speaking again. "Fine. You go out in the suit like that and you aren't at the top of your game, you could die. Alright? I really don't want to deal with that right now." Mr. Stark says in a clipped tone, there's more to it, Peter can tell from the pause. And his eyes. They hold more than he stated.

He doesn't say anything, but he knows that Mrs. Potts noticed, too.

Mr. Stark's really good at telling half truths. It scares him sometimes, admittedly.

May leans over the couch and Peter resists the urge to jump. He was so focused on Mr. Stark that he didn't hear her move up behind them. She sighs, "What do I do if I've already grounded you for a few months?"

Peter's hands fist, "Um…?"

May shakes her head, "No more secrets, alright? Please? This is serious, not a joke. I don't want you getting hurt, okay? Next time, you tell, am I clear?"

"Yeah." Peter agrees, but his voice sounds distant to him.

May ruffles his hair in affection and he holds back his wince glancing at her. She looks up at the other occupants in the room, "Good. Breakfast?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated on April 15th, 2019. :)**

* * *

Chapter Six:

The snow doesn't stop, halt, or even let up slightly for the following three days. With no means by which to kick them out, Mrs. Parker grudgingly allowed herself and Tony to stay. Pepper called into S.I. a few times, trying to pretend she's not currently hiding with her fugitive husband and did some work from her phone. The police have apparently moved beyond her assisting Tony because her secretary, bless her heart, vouched for her. At the moment, her cover story is the storm and when it lets up she's not sure what she's going to do.

Where they'll go.

Pepper has her doubts that Mrs. Parker will let them stay for longer than she has to.

Pepper has no plan B.

Peter wasn't allowed off the couch, or even to stand until a day ago after Mrs. Parker had stuffed food down his throat and made him sleep. When Friday gave the affirmative that the worst of the bruises had settled, Peter ran to his room and Pepper hasn't seen much of him since.

She's not certain what he's been doing, but she has been concerned.

He's usually so sociable from what she's heard from Tony.

Pepper opens her eyes and stares up at the dark ceiling, it's around five AM, she'd guess, and the ever persistent howling wind isn't pounding against the walls anymore. The snowstorm, she's guessing, has finally come to a halt.

Which is great.

They need somewhere to crash.

Did the Avengers have any safe houses they can crash at? Pepper knows that Natasha had at least three in New York, but she can't remember for the life of her, where the ex-assassin said they were.

Everything's a mess.

She and Tony have been through a lot of crap during the years of their relationship and now marriage, but this tops all. Tony's been proclaimed dead and missing, but never a traitor, she doesn't know how to fix it and it's driving her _insane._ She's useless. Just another thing for Tony to be worrying about.

It would be easier for him if she just heads back to S.I. where he knows she'll be fine and he can focus solely on proving his innocence. Well...partially. Peter's been taking up his thoughts just as much as everything else despite his best efforts to stuff it down and act cold and uncaring, Pepper can see it.

She has seen it since the Mr. Toomes.

Admittedly, she finds it a little remarkable. Tony is not a very trusting person, or lets others close to them. He's been let down a lot and Pepper doesn't want to see it happen again. Peter's a good kid, though. With some misjudgment at times— _his ribs, oh the idiot—_ but a good kid.

He reminds her oddly of Tony at some points and she sometimes she wonders if it was there before or after he met the man. The last few days have been...tense. With Peter confined to the couch Mrs. Parker dragged the two of them away from the living room and set them at the table with a pack of cards promising to smack both of them with a rolling pin if they woke her nephew. Neither Tony or herself thought that the older Parker was kidding.

Mrs. Parker ...she's much different that Tony told her she was. The way he talked about her made her sound like a gentle, nice person who has never yelled in their lives. A person who bakes cookies and hands them out to people on the streets then gives out candy to the children. While being all of those, Mrs. Parker is a woman you mess with if you have a death wish. Treading around that the last few days had been difficult.

Pepper exhales softly and returns her gaze to the ceiling. The floor isn't uncomfortable, the amount of blankets that Mrs. Parker threw at them was enough to cover a small army, she's just incapable of sleeping. Her mind is moving a mile a minute and she has no idea how to slow it. There's so much that needs to happen or go right and she doesn't know how to deal with it.

The childish desire to kick something is strong. It won't help, and give little more than a aching foot so there's really _no point_. Why did the hacker have to choose _Tony?_ Life was finally calming down again, the Accords drama was over, Tony and her were _finally_ married and with Peter to distract him Tony hasn't had as much time to focus on other pressing issues. It's been nice to see him happy again.

And now?

 _This._

Pepper brings her fingers up to her stomach and lets them rest there playing with wedding ring, spinning around her finger again and again. The shrapnel necklace is tangled into her hair, but she refuses to remove it. She's been wearing it for over two weeks straight now and has little desire to change that. She's exhausted, but too anxious to sleep. Typically, she doesn't have a lot of problems, but she's at a loss of what to do.

Her mind doesn't let her sleep, demanding that she fix the problem.

 _But she doesn't know how!_

She nearly jumps as Tony rolls over suddenly, and Pepper whips her head towards him as he leans on his side propping his elbow against the ground and resting his head on it. He's awake? Since when? She was beyond sure he was sleeping. He looks tired. She didn't wake him, did she? She wasn't being loud or moving—he should be sleeping.

"You know, most people sleep during the middle of the night. It's like four, what are you doing up?" Tony asks softly his voice barely above a whisper. Pepper releases a small breath of frustration. She could ask him the same question.

She runs a hand through her messy red hair. She needs to find a hairbrush soon. It's getting to ridiculous proportions. "Why are you?" She counters.

Tony shrugs and waves his free hand slightly, "Same as you. Worrying. It really builds character—did you know? I mean, the grey hairs aren't a plus, but _really_."

Pepper bites her lip. He's rambling again. He does it often, but in a serious situation like this, only when he's really worried. He wouldn't _shut up_ in the hospital after the fight between Barnes and Steve.

Pepper doesn't answer, the cold sinking into her bones, but she doesn't pay attention to it. _She is so useless._ She hates this feeling. Tony is quiet for a moment and she can feel his gaze on her face as she doesn't answer.

"Is something wrong?" Tony asks softly.

What _isn't?_

Their lives are a mess and normal is miles away from where their standing.

"We can't stay here, you know that." Pepper whispers. The longer they stay here, or at least Tony, the more likely the police will find them and throw Mrs. Parker in prison for hiding a dangerous criminal. They have to leave. Today.

Tony purses his lips and frowns, "I know." He admits. "It stopped snowing a little after two. I'm surprised Mrs. Parker didn't come barging out of her room with her baseball bat, then again, she's probably sleeping—like most people do in the middle of the night." Tony pokes at her arm at the last part and she sighs, again.

"What are we going to do, Tony? You need somewhere to hide." She says and turns her head to look at her husband. His lips purse together tightly and gives a small, painfully stretched smirk.

She wishes he would stop pretending this is okay.

It's not.

"Don't push me off like I'm sort artifact that needs to go into storage. I'm not _that_ old." His attempt at humor is weak and Pepper squeezes her eyes shut in frustration. She loves him with her whole heart, she _does,_ it's just that everything is a mess right now and if he _truly_ thinks that's what she's trying to do…

She's not.

She's trying to protect him.

 _Threat is imminent, and I have to protect the one thing I can't live without—that's you._

 _Oh, how the tides have turned._

"I think I'm going to go into S.I. today." She says after a moment of silence. If she can just _get out_ of his hair, he can focus on getting himself cleared. He needs to. Tony tenses beside her, abruptly and all humor slips off his expression revealing the panic and worry that's been hiding for days.

Pepper has seen it before now.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, this person hacked into my systems, Pep. I _really—"_ He starts to argue, but Pepper glances upwards in frustration. She knows that he needs to protect her, but honestly, she'll be _fine. She's not dying._ This isn't Killian again with the fire and the poison and—Pepper shoves the thoughts to the side before ripping her eyelids apart to meet the eyes of her husband.

" _Tony,_ I'll be fine. Happy's there, and Rhodey, Vision's hanging around somewhere, too. The security's worse than a hospital." She knows he's still going to argue. She's fully aware that it's not the same as them being in the same room, but she has to stop being a problem. Tony needs to focus on finding the hacker.

He needs somewhere safe to settle. Somewhere she doesn't have to worry about him being caught by the police.

Tony is quiet, but she can sense the waves of displeasure and all around " _no's"_ coming off of him.

"I'll be fine. I just need you to focus on getting yourself cleared, okay? I'll just stay at S.I. until this blows over." She says and Tony's silence grows more solemn before he turns and flops against his back staring up at the ceiling. His hands rests against his sides in tight fists.

The few seconds of her husband's silence are tense before he releases a soft sigh. "I don't think it will."

" _What?"_ Pepper sits up slightly the long sleeves to red shirt she's been wearing for three almost four days pressed underneath her palm.

Tony flashes a frustrated look at the ceiling, "Honey, I've done a lot of...shady things in the past, alright? The weapons, Civil War, Ultron...I don't see this going away. The world knew that something is up with me and this just confirmed it."

Pepper can feel her eyes widening with every word.

No.

They're wrong.

They don't know him like she does.

He doesn't think he can fix it. Tony _always_ thinks he can fix it. It's part of who he is. He's a mechanic he builds stuff, he fixes it, he pulls it apart and puts it back together. Usually with a level of arrogance that drives her crazy, but _he fixes it._

He doesn't give up like this.

" _Tony_ ," Her voice comes out slightly sharper than she intended. He turns his hazel eyes to look at her the distress level through his gaze in a way that makes her heart twist with sympathy. She finds his hand amidst the blankets and grips it tightly, "Tony, you can't give up. You're going to fix it, the truth will come out someday." She presses her tone more firmly. "We can do this. Together. We'll _get_ your name cleared."

He shakes his head and gives a soft humorless laugh, "Pep, I can't find _anything,_ alright? There's _nothing there,_ nothing to track or trace."

 _There has to be._

Pepper glances at the phone that's lying a few feet on Tony's left. "You need a computer." He's been working with a phone for the last few days, nad hacking is always easier on a computer—they have over ten or twelve computers in their house, why didn't he use those? "Why didn't you use the one's at the house?"

"They release something for the hacker to trace. I start poking through the data banks and I'm basically throwing a tracking beacon into the air." Tony answers, sighing under his breath.

"And the phone doesn't do that?" Pepper counters, confused.

"Friday has less to cover. It's slow, but she and I have been working to cover my tracks. It's easier for her the less she has to process."

Pepper sighs.

Tony huffs, "Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Unless you have computers from the early 2000's, I'm going nowhere."

Pepper bites her lip heavily. Maybe in storage at some S.I. building buried further than the core of Earth, but _somewhere._ She'll have to call some people. She can probably get a few people in on the project with her, but finding everything will take a few days and—Tony's fingers snap after nearly a minute and he sits up swinging his head towards her his eyes sparking. "Peter."

Pepper's eyebrows meet, " _Peter?_ What does he have to do with—"

"He has tech since before I was born in his room. I can use that." Tony explains in one breath and since she found him in their house a few days ago, Tony looks hopeful.

"Really?" Pepper questions, breathless.

Tony nods, "Yes. I was making fun of it. Dumpster diver. He builds computers." Tony explains hurriedly.

Oh.

 _Thank all that is good in this world._

Pepper lays back down and squeezes her eyes shut.

"Good," she murmurs after a moment she opens her eyes again and tugs at the blanket that he's mostly stolen from sitting up. It is freezing. Even with her long pants, two pairs of socks and long sleeve shirt it feels like her insides are trying to challenge Antarctica on frigidness.

Tony makes a move to stand up, but Pepper grabs his hand, "Wait," she commands, "it's early, it can wait until tomorrow."

"I—"

"Tony." Pepper presses, "Peter's asleep. We need to let him rest."

Tony slumps slightly and sighs a little, "Right."

Trying to ease the tension, she tugs at the blanket pathetically, "Sit down. You're stealing the blanket." She mumbles. She can't see his expression, but imagines the eye roll. He flops down next to her again and tosses a large portion of the blue fleece blanket at her face.

Pepper shoves it away from her head and sighs with contentment at the warmth. "You cold?" Tony asks after a moment and glances towards her. Pepper nods tiredly and closes her eyes. She hears Tony shuffle and peaks her eyes open with confusion before Tony throws another of the six blankets they were given across her.

She throws some towards him and he curls up next to her and Pepper buries the blankets up to her nose, trying to ignore how cold she is. She stays awake long enough to see Tony fall asleep beside her, tenly before her brain finally gives into the idea of sleeping and she drifts off as well.

An alarm blares loudly, causing her to wake up.

She jumps a little, fully awake as Tony whips upwards in surprise before groaning and letting his head drop onto the pillow in frustration. A second alarm follows a moment later and Pepper feels like echoing him. It would appear the Parker's are up then. Is it really that early?

Tony lifts his head from the pillow to breathe before looking at her, "Can I smash them just once, _please?"_

Unlike herself, Tony, for as long as she's known him has never been a morning person. Unless you count three AM, _then_ he's a morning person. But going to bed and getting up early? No.

Pepper doesn't offer a response. Yes, she would _love_ to let him smash them both, probably with a hammer or a laser or something, but neither one of them is going to be here tomorrow morning to be angry with the blaring. After getting almost no sleep last night, she's not feeling particularly happy with them either.

Lights switch on above them and Tony and her groan in pain as Pepper rolls against the pillow, mimicking Tony's position and holds it close to her face at the agony of her eyes. She hears Mrs. Parker move around in the room next to them, and, after a moment of mentally bracing herself for the long day ahead of them, Pepper sits up and elbows Tony in the ribs to do the same. He grumbles something in displeasure and smacks her arm in defiance.

"Get up, Hotshot." She commands.

He mumbles something else into the pillow that Pepper can't translate before she walks away from the mess they've made of the living room carpet. Pepper steps into the kitchen, shivering slightly as Mrs. Parker flips through a recipe book. The older Parker glances up at her for a moment and at the inquiring look Pepper shoots her she shrugs.

"We're out of cereal and I don't plan on scraping any more charcoal off the grill."

"Muffins?" Pepper guesses. Mrs. Parker nods and pauses for a moment, almost listening for something. "Is Peter up yet?" Pepper asks and Mrs. Parker rolls her eyes before snorting.

"Nope, it's Monday. He has school today, though, his principle called." Mrs. Parker answers and she stops again before leaning over the counter, "Peter! Are you up yet!?" She yells down the hall. Pepper flinches at the volume and there's a momentary pause.

"Yes." Peter answers from his room, but it sounds more like a moan. Pepper's eyebrows raise slightly. She hasn't seen this from either of them the few days she's been here. Then again, Peter didn't have any school and was injured the others.

Mrs. Parker rolls her eyes fondly, "You better get up, you have school today!"

" _What!?"_ Peter's panicked voice shouts before there's a loud _thump_. Mrs. Parker snickers and looks down at the cookbook again and flips through a few pages. Is this common, then? She's not certain that she imagined that Peter would be someone who didn't get up early.

Tony walks up beside her, his hair sticking up in odd angles. Mrs. Parker attempts her best poker face at it, but a small smile still graces her lips, "You two have any requests?" Mrs. Parker asks, flipping through the book again as sounds of struggle come down the hall. Tony raises an inquiring eyebrow in the direction of the noise and Pepper shrugs in answer.

Mrs. Parker sets down the book, finally choosing some sort of cranberry one before Peter's door is thrown open and he practically throws himself down the hall coming to a halt in front of the kitchen. Pepper hasn't seen him since yesterday morning and he doesn't look much better. The rings under his eyes are darker and his hair looks more messy, but at least he looks less like an undead creature and more human today.

"Nice bed head." Mrs. Parker comments as she pulls a bowl from the cabinet. Peter glances up, though his hairs too short for him to see anything. Mrs. Parker sets the bowl down and pauses before leaning over the countertop. "It stopped snowing last night." She says, tapping her fingers against the countertop.

Pepper shares a look with Tony. She's been expecting this, honestly, but it doesn't quell the panic.

Peter mouths a "oh".

Mrs. Parker sighs and rubs her hands together, "Listen, I won't admit this to anyone else and I'll deny it if you bring it up, but—you aren't who I thought you were."

Tony's expression is blank, a white sheet of paper and Pepper mimics it. Mrs. Parker's point? Are they worse? A few seconds pass, but Mrs. Parker doesn't elaborate.

Mrs. Parker turns to Peter, "You go get ready for school, these will be done in twenty minutes so I want you ready by then. I have to go into work today and," Mrs. Parker turns to look back at her, "I assume you do as well, Mrs. Stark?"

"Yes." Pepper answers, not missing the way Tony visibly tenses at her word.

"Alright, that will be leaving Mr. Stark by himself and I'd like to get these done so he doesn't have to burn down the kitchen for lunch." Mrs. Parker says and shoos her nephew off but none of them move. Pepper's brain is spinning.

 _By himself?_

"You're letting us stay?" She asks, trying, and failing to keep the shock from her voice. She barely keeps her jaw from freely falling.

Mrs. Parker dumps flour into the bowl and nods, "Yes. As long as the police don't catch a whiff, I'll let you stay. I've watched you both the last few days—I'm not saying I don't think that Mr. Stark isn't guilty, but I want to help you."

This woman is sacrificing her _freedom_ for them.

Mrs. Parker's lips thin, "You helped my kid," she says her voice a little quieter. She clears her throat, then says, a little louder: "Peter, backpack, now." Mrs. Parker snaps her fingers and points down the hall. Peter still doesn't move.

"I...I think I should stay here with Mr. Stark." Peter says quietly. Mrs. Parker tosses a stray piece of hair from her face.

"No,"

"But—"

"No buts."

"Aunt May, I—"

"—Is going to start packing his backpack, right?"

Peter sighs in frustration and raises his hands slightly. Pepper purses her lips and glances at Peter again. Tony twists a little, "Do you still have to computers from the Jurassic Age in your room?"

Peter flips his gaze from Mrs. Parker to Tony and expression from frustration to annoyance. "Yes, and they aren't _that_ old."

"Great. Can I use them?" Tony asks and Peter shrugs.

"Sure."

Tony moves away from her as he shoves Peter lightly on the back down the hall and towards his room. Peter doesn't protest and as the door closes behind them Mrs. Parker shakes her head in exasperation before returning to her muffins.

000o000

Fidgety.

If Tony had one word he could use to describe his emotions, fidgety would fit the description perfectly. It isn't an emotion he loves to sit and have tea with, but for the last three days all it's done is stolen his sugar. Tons, and _tons_ of sugar. It isn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that everything is crashing down around him and all he has is a small island that's surrounded by sharks.

Blood thirsty sharks.

The last few days have been a mess of emotions and whirling rush of breathlessness. He hasn't really had time to stop, breathe, and process everything. He's not entirely sure he _wants_ to, though.

"—that one doesn't start unless it's in the mood to, so head's up." Peter's voice drags him away from his scrambling thoughts and he forces himself to be present at the moment flashing a cocky grin at the teen. Peter pulls away from the power button and gestures with his hands towards the still black monitor.

"I can make it in the mood." He assures and Peter snorts as he grabs something off of the ground and shoves it into his backpack.

"Yeah, I thought that, too, but I'm serious, it's evil." Peter says and Tony turns to the computer monitor before smacking it on the top of the head. The computer blares to life with pitiful buzzes that could probably get Friday to cry.  
Peter's eyebrows lift. "I—"

"Sometimes they just need a good kick," Tony assures, "I'll look a the wiring later, I'm pretty sure it's faulty or loose somewhere."

Peter smacks his forehead, "Oh my gosh that is so obvious. This is embarrassing."

Tony waves a hand in his direction. Tony doesn't look back at him, quickly typing in a password. Then another, after his third try it logs in and Tony shoves a data chip into the back of the monitor.

Peter leans over his shoulder curiously, "What are you doing?"

 _Nothing you should worry about._

"Your backpack is still pathetically flat." Tony answers in response as he waits for Friday to upload into the system. Peter pulls away from him and moves around the room back and forth grabbing things and placing them in the backpack, after nearly four minutes, Tony has successfully loaded the data strips onto the computer and is working through them quickly.

Still nothing. Wonderful.

Tony stops and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration before lowering his eyebrows in confusion.

Peter is oddly quiet behind him. Peter is _never_ quiet. Tony's not actually sure the teenager knows what silence means. He's always asking questions are prattling on about nonsense that to be honest, Tony doesn't actually mind. He's a different lab partner than Bruce—

No.

He doesn't want to think about that.

Peter's alright, right? Tony twists slightly to look back at him, and then raises an eyebrow.

Peter is face-down on the bed, his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his legs is dangling over the end of the bed as one of his arms is draped over the edge. His breathing is slightly muffled, but it sounds wheezed.

Impressive. Tony's starting to think that the kid's ability to fall asleep in the weirdest positions is starting to rival Cli—

No.

Not thinking about that either.

Tony rolls his eyes before pulling away from the computer and walking towards the edge of the bed. Tony successfully makes it across the carpet without a sound before he grasps the edge of Peter's ankle and tugs him backwards moving swiftly out of the way as Peter tumbles onto the ground with a yelp of surprise on his back.

Mission accomplished.

Tony turns back to the computer as Peter sits up behind him, probably looking shocked or outraged. Tony doesn't look, fingers tapping across the data spiraling down towards him in zeros and ones.

"Why did you do that?" Peter moans.

"As the only adult in the room, I feel obligated to make sure you are as tired as possible for school." Tony answers absentmindedly, his brain more focused on the streams of data. _Come on, give me something._ Everyone leaves a mark, there's no way that this person could have completely swept themselves out. He could trace it to where it came from, and then work from there, but he doesn't want to leave New York in case something happens.

Peter lets out a groan of pain behind him and he hears the teen flop down against the ground letting out another muffled moan of pain. This perks Tony's interest and he twists around from the desk to look back at Peter. His arm is wrapped around his ribs and his eyes are tightly closed.

 _Oh._

Tony mentally kicks himself aggressively in the shins.

 _You idiot._

Peter's still recovering from massive bruising and minor breaks. _Excellent work, Stark, let's throw the injured kid on his back where he's hurt. Brilliant, stunning, Howard must be so proud._

Trying to keep the mental storm to an outward calm, Tony digs into his jacket pocket for Pepper's phone as he inquiry asks, "You okay?"

Peter curls the fist not over his ribs into a thumbs up, "Superb." His voice is tight and the clenching in Tony's stomach tightens immensely. He flips the screen open on Pepper's phone and raises it towards Peter for Friday to scan.

"Friday?"

"Mr. Parker's ribs are still tender. Nothing broken or in need of immediate attention." She answers calmly. Good. He just has to make Peter sit still for another two days (more likely three) and he'll be back to normal.

"Traitor." Peter grumbles halfheartedly towards the phone and opens his eyes slightly to give a small glare in the phone's directions.

"My apologies, Mr. Parker."

Nope, she's not, neither is Tony.

Peter just closes his eyes more and Tony gives him a sympathetic sigh before grabbing one of the less tangled blankets and tossing towards Peter's curled frame. Peter flinches slightly, but doesn't make any other reaction and Tony turns back to the computer. Friday spins the data faster, apparently on to something and Tony just watches it idly.

"Anything?" He asks. If he'd programmed sighs into her, she would have.

"No, Boss, I'm looking for an abnormality in the programming; but I can't find anything."

Tony gives a small nod and rests his hand against the wall before leaning against it in frustration. He _didn't_ actually send of the missiles, did he? No. This is stupid. He _didn't._ Jarvis would have kicked him in the butt if he did and Stev—

He's just hasn't slept more than maybe seven hours in the week and a half or so since he was framed. He stayed up for Pepper the first few nights, searching for the culprit, but found nothing. After that they came to the Parker's, but Tony couldn't sleep from panic and just spent the whole night alternating looking at the ceiling then over at Pepper to make sure she was still there.

Peter appears next to him suddenly and it takes every bit of willpower Tony contains to not jump. He flinches, aggressively, but Peter doesn't look at him starting at the computer screen, "What are you doing?"

Tony raises an eyebrow at Peter's bedraggled appearance which is somehow worse than before. Tony has a suddenly pulsing surge of confidence in his half-dead zombie appearance. A blanket is wrapped around Peter's shoulders and he looks pale and cold. Now that Tony's really thinking about it, when Peter was coming over to the tower the last few weeks he always looked cold. Spider's are cold blooded, right?

Can't regulate body heat.

 _Oh._

Tony ignores the question and instead reaches his hand forward to run it through Peter's messy hair to pat down the worst of the mess. Peter wide-eyes him, but otherwise remains quiet as Tony straightens his sticking-upwards hair then grabs his phone leaving the computer on.

"Your aunt's muffins will be done soon and you're already going to barely make it to school." Tony says, trying not to yell in anxiety. _Why the heck did he just touch Peter's hair?_ What the freaking heck?

Peter sighs and removes the blanket tossing to back towards the bed. "I don't think I should go."

Tony doesn't either, but he's not about to admit that.

"Yeah, you've made that...abundantly clear." Tony responds and moves towards the bed grabbing Peter's backpack and heaves it upwards. He raises an eyebrow, "Are you carrying bricks around in here?"

Peter rolls his eyes and takes it from Tony's arms, "No."

"Bowling balls, then."

"Really? Does it look round to you?" Peter opens to door to the room and steps into the hall Tony following after him with his best mustered cocky smirk. All he really wants to do right now is scream, tug at his hair, and then throw up.

"No, it looks pointy." Tony answers and pokes at the edge of the backpack a side of a book jabbing into his finger. Peter pulls it away and rolls his eyes looking back at Tony with an expression Tony can't read very well. Some form of fond exasperation and annoyance.

The two of them step into the kitchen and Tony sweeps his gaze over it for a moment. Pepper is arranging the muffins on a plate in some sort of flower shape as May is prattling on about how much she doesn't want to deal with a fellow employee whose driving her crazy.

Tony pauses for a moment as Peter comes to a halt next to the counter and May smiles handing him a muffin. Something changed. Tony watches them for another moment, then bites hard on his gums as it hits him: They're comfortable.

May isn't wary of everything Pepper's saying and the two of them seem to actually be enjoying each other's company.

It's...strange.

"...right?" Pepper looks back at him and Tony throws himself back into the present blinking a few times and bites his tongue...erm. Yeah. No.

"Yes." Tony says after a moment. He has no idea what she was talking about, but yeah, sure.

Pepper smirks knowingly before turning back to May as she hands Peter a paper bag. "Lunch." She says in answer to his unspoken question.

He nods in thanks and unzips the top of the backpack. It's filled the brim and Peter's expression twists in his distress before he stuffs the books down then pushes the backpack on the top. With some effort, he manages to zip the backpack and swings it over his shoulder.

"Text me when you get there, 'kay?" May says and Peter nods his head slightly and wraps her in a hug. She holds him tightly and murmurs something into his hair before letting him go. She gives a tight smile and Peter glances at Tony, looking anxious.

"I'll still be here when you get back." He assures and Peter nods before moving towards the door and turns looking back at his aunt.

"Bye, Aunt May. You're working today, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be back around four. Go conqueror worlds today."

000o000

Some six hours after Pepper and May leave for work, Tony stares at the screen, trying to ignore the massive headache pulsing between his eyelids. He is going to update his security so intensely when this is over that the thirtieth century still won't be able to get in. He's still found nothing yet.

 _Zero, one, zero._

 _One, one, one, zero._

 _Zero, one, one, one, one._

 _Zero, one, zero._

 _One, one, one, one—wait._

Tony flips through the screens eyes scanning for any information. There has to be a tracing point, there always is. Nothing, nothing, nothing and—nothing! What a surprise. As much as he hates it, he's slightly impressed. The thorough work is intense and must've taken months of preparation. He needs Pepper's phone, Friday might've gotten something.

He glances up from Peter's computer pursing his lips tightly as he doesn't see it on floor around the monitor. Alright. Friday's in the computer, but since there aren't any speakers, he needs to find the phone she she can talk to him. Where would he have left it?

Not here.

The kitchen?

Tony rises to his feet and exits Peter's room, the door giving a high pitched wail as he closes it. And that's why he prefers he and Pepper's house. The doors don't sound like a kicked cat.

Tony walks down the hallway, and then steps into the living room-kitchen area. He sweeps his gaze across the countertop, finding nothing, then flicks his attention to the table, but freezes when he hears the sound of silverware tapping against a cup.

 _The apartment was empty._

Oh, man, no, no, no. It can't be the police. He's innocent. He can't leave Pepper or Rhodey or Peter…maybe he can make it to Peter's room before they get him? It had a window right? Then where? He has nowhere else to go after this.

It—

He—

Tony looks up at the living room area warily, fingers fisted, his eyes scanning for a weapon. Sitting on the chair, left of the coffee, table is a woman. Her long blonde hair is falling over her shoulders and she's wearing all black in an outfit that reminds him vaguely of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s.

Does he know her?

She doesn't have NYPD stamped anywhere on her, but she could still be federal.

And drinking _tea?_

Tony tries to cover up his body posture with a loose carelessness, but it feels tight, even to him.

Who is this? What is she doing here? Is she here for the Parkers? Because that is _not_ happening.

The blonde looks up from her cup and flashes a wide smile, "Anthony!" She says brightly and he feels his stomach sinking. Her careless tone makes it sound like they've been friends for a long time which they have _not._ He's seen her before. Where?

Her makeup is familiar, the face shape, her excessive eyebrow drawing—

No. A FBI agent, maybe? One of Ross's?

 _How did she find him?_ He and Pepper covered their tracks twice before coming here _._

"Please, have a seat." She says and raises her other hand, pistol clasped between her gloved fingers. Tony hesitates. Why is she here? Does she know about the Parkers? Did she do something to them? Is Pepper okay? "How are you doing, Mr. Stark? The last week seems to have been stressful for you."

Oh gosh, what is her name?

It starts with a "S" or something, maybe "T".

Tony raises an eyebrow at her smile and doesn't keep the frown from off of his face. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asks blankly. People are always far more careless when their angry and he wants to know what she's doing here. He needs to know.

The woman's smile broadens, "Oh, yes." She assures.

Tony clenches his jaw, "You know, it's not really yours to offer. The chair, that is."

She tilts her head slightly back and forth, "Yes, but, I insist."

Tony moves forward, stiffly, and sits on the coffee table. The blankets that Pepper and himself left in a tangled mess all over the floor are neatly folded on the leg of the couch across from the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and she turns looking back at him; resting the pistol on her leg. She takes a sip of the tea or whatever it is she's drinking, something that reminds him strongly of steaming milk.

She's threatening him, silently, with the gun. Promising if he makes one move, she'll shoot him. The only weapon he can come up with in a few seconds is the vase with dead flowers sitting on the window sill a few feet away.

"You're a hard man to find, Anthony, you had me _worried_ for a little when I couldn't find you; I searched for days and days _restlessly."_ The woman says. Her voice is sugary sweet and makes him feel vaguely ill.

Tony digs his fingernails into his palms, "Yeah, well, I try."

She laughs, but it's not like the music of Pepper's, it sounds like metal grinding against a hard lock. Tony's patience slips slightly, "Do you have a reason for being here, or are you just here to make my ears hurt?"

She smirks, "My name is Claree Tren, you got Fury to _wrongly_ let me go from S.H.I.E.L.D." The ways she says it almost so off-tone and careless but he can hear the venom placed deeper. Claree. That's what is was. Her parents couldn't even give her the sensible name of Clare? Clare is a _fine_ name.

Claree.

 _Claree._

 _Oh._

S.H.I.E.L.D.

She worked for them.

Tony stills.

Perfect.

Just utterly, fantastically, _perfect._

He knows her, and, unfortunately, he was stupid to believe that she was truly gone. Bigger problems got pulled up like, Ultron and Civil War. Somewhere close to a year and a half after the Avengers formed and S.H.I.E.L.D. was still up and running this woman was working on modifying brainwaves with computer programming.

He didn't really notice it was Nat—Black Widow. Apparently word slipped out from her research team and Black Widow was...unhappy, to say the least, because of Red Room and went to confront the rogue agent. It didn't end well and Black Widow came back to Avengers Tower bruised, bloody, and furious.

Not as angry as the rest of them were.

Tony dug up everything he could on her, bullet pointed, then _printed_ it, and personally gave it to Fury. Claree was dismissed hours later and promised with a fiery look in her eyes that she'd make them bleed for what their hands did. He didn't take her seriously and told her to try.

How things like this come back to bite him in the butt.

Tony snorts, "You were making computer chips that could wipe memory on humans _and_ computers. That's not really something that should be encouraged."

Claree's eyebrows meet in her mock distress. "Oh, of course. I understand completely, I've put it behind me."

Yeah. Right.

And he's currently _not_ wanted for terrorism.

"I'm sure." Tony quips.

Claree's smile grows ever wider.

It's disturbing.

Tony is abruptly reminded why he sided with Black Widow on this woman's madness.

"Are you going to call the cops on me?" Tony asks.

Claree's eyebrows shoot up in fake surprise and she pulls the steaming milk (that smells utterly terrible) and rests a hand over her heart in hurt. The tea cup clanks against a plate that Tony's one hundred percent sure that the Parker's don't own. That thing looks far more expensive than anything else in the whole complex, actually. "Oh, _Anthony,_ I could never betray your trust like _that."_

Tony feels frustration bubble on his insides, but all he does is clench his fists. She can taunt him all she wants, in fact, _let her,_ but if she lays a flippen _fingernail_ on his family, he's going to murder her, slowly. "Ha, yeah, that's _very_ funny. Your point?"

Claree fakes a hurt face, "Oh, _Anthony,_ named a certified genius, so naive."

"Really? Refresh my memory." Tony commands.

Claree leans forward, "You shipped out weapons for nearly ten years before you realized something was wrong—and not even by yourself. It took a man's death and shrapnel in your heart before you grasped the very barest of _ideas_ on that. You killed the Maximoff girl's parents. Created Ultron, lost Bruce, nearly killed an innocent man, destroyed the Avengers, almost got a fifteen year old murdered because you wouldn't listen—"

" _What do you want?"_ Tony hisses.

"Suffering." Claree whispers. "I want to watch you _bleed._ Rip your life apart as you did to mine, Stark, make you _beg."_

Pepper. Rhodey. Peter. The Avengers.

Tony snaps his head up, "If you _touch_ them I will—"

"What? Anthoney? What will you do? I'm curious." Claree interrupts and gives him a wider smile.

"I have resources."

"My employer destroyed all your suits, Anthony. You have nothing left. Not your Avengers, or your _precious_ wife. Captain America isn't going to drop everything to help you anymore, is he? Ooh, tender spot?"

Tony barely resists the urge to grab her in a choke hold.

"I assume you're familiar with the game, chess? Yes? My dearest Tony, when you take the king, the game is over. But what piece guards him the most during the process? The queen."

"Pepper." Tony blurts.

"You're catching on!" Claree praises. Tony's breathing deepens. Not her, _please, please_ not her. Claree's smile changes from disturbingly content to satisfied. "I've won, Mr. Stark."

"Won _what?_ I'm still a freeman, Ms. Tren." Tony argues. Wasn't that the goal of all of this, anyway? If she hacked into his system and framed him wasn't the point to get the police to arrest him, like he did to her? " _This_ is your master plan?" Tony asks dubiously, trying to force on more confidence than he has.

 _Never let them watch you sweat._

"You know who goes down first after the king and queen are dead?" Claree asks rhetorically, "The heir."

Peter.

Wait. Stop. Take him, murder him slowly, whatever, but _leave them alone!_ Tony rises to his feet no real plan in hand save to _strangle her,_ but he freezes when Claree meets him on her feet, holding a gun level to his heart the safety clicking off. "I suppose watching them weep for you would be enough." She says smiling. "You destroyed my _life._ I'm only returning the favor."

"You deserved it."

"So do you."

"What do you plan to do?" Tony demands.

Claree rolls her eyes, "Do you honestly think I'm going to reveal my evil plan to you? No. This isn't evil," her lip curls in a sneer, "it's just good old fashioned revenge."

Tony's blood rushes cold.

"Your wife is safe for now, but when she's open, I'm coming. You'll watch her bleed out in front of you." Claree promises.

Tony moves his fist up to punch her, but the cold metal of the gun presses against his forehead stilling his movements. "You won't touch her." He hisses.

Claree laughs and leans in next to his ear, "I don't plan to, not now, anyway. Don't need to. That Parker kid's a good hero, you know, you must be very proud of him."

Peter.

His spine goes rigid.

 _Stop it, stop it, stop it!_

Claree pulls the gun away from his forehead and moves behind him, out of Tony's sight. He doesn't move, painfully aware of the gun, but watches her with his gaze. "You must be so proud of your son," Claree says in a sing-song voice. "You've created a little family for yourself. It will be so satisfying when I burn it."

His feet lurch.

The gun.

 _Remember the gun._

Claree moves towards the door, and, after a split second decision, Tony blurts,"He's not my son!" All he hears is Claree's laughter laced sentence in response before she shuts the door to the apartment with a slam: "You keep telling yourself that, Anthony."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated April 15th, 2019**

* * *

Chapter Seven:

If Peter's vision wasn't spinning so much, he probably would have seen the pole before he smacked against it. If his ribs weren't pulsing in an awkward angle, he probably wouldn't have tried to walk into the pole in the first place. And to top it all, if Peter's eye wasn't swelling, he wouldn't have had to lower his head in an attempt to not catch anyone's attention ergo: seeing the pole.

Unfortunately, he _did_ smash against the pole, and when the cold metal from the fire escape met his face, Peter let out a yelp of pain and surprise tumbling backwards from his attempt to scale it solely with his arms. Battling the elevator didn't appeal at the moment and he usually leaves his window unlocked for purposes like this and he's starting to wonder if it's really worth it.

Peter's backpack smashes against the railing for the floor lower than his and he lands in a collapsed heap in the snow, staring upwards trying desperately not to breathe deeply. His eyes are wide as he looks upwards towards the brown metal smiling back down at him maliciously. He scowls at it, but that feels strangely pathetic. He sighs and groans, pushing upwards against the snow. The cold digs into his already freezing fingers, but he ignores it to the best of his ability.

 _Stupid December with all it's stupid cold, and stupid ability to make everyone freeze to death._

Peter sits up backpack's weight rolls onto his shoulders unevenly and Peter grasps the railing to the escape before pulling himself up. Peter lets out a soft sigh before looking back up at the fire escape's bottom. Glancing at the window to make sure the blinds are covering, Peter leaps upwards and presses his fingers against the roof.

With soft effort and a few more childish nicknames of frustration at the wall and metal, Peter finally pulls himself into his room and releases a sigh of relief. He tosses his backpack onto the bed and turns to collapse on it, but pauses as he sees the computer monitor still whirring. Streams of data are sitting still from multiple tabs. The complexity of the code (beyond the zeros and ones) looks almost comical on the computer that's from the late 1990's.

Peter's eyebrows meet for a moment before he blinks in surprise.

This is familiar.

Why is it so familiar?

It—

 _Oh._

It's the code for SI. The one that Peter attempted to hack as a joke and failed _why_ is it... Stark's trying to hack into his own systems. _That's_ what he was doing this morning. Right. That makes sense. But where is he now?

Peter flicks his gaze towards the clock. It's about four, so May should be on her way home and he has...about fifteen minutes before she comes home and _that_ means that she'll _see_ the swelling and be prepared to go after Flash with a baseball bat because he…

 _He—_

 _Actually hit him._

Flash has _never_ hit him before and now it's...painfully visible. It _wasn't_ his fault. He really wasn't trying to motivate Flash into it...okay, so the punch is partially his fault, but still! The stairs were unintentional...probably. All he really wants is ice. For his face, that is. His ribs feel a great deal better than they did a few days ago. Just a little tender. But still. The Ice. It isn't the first time that he's come home with a black eye so maybe May will let it pass...likely not.

Mr. Stark looks like he left the room in a hurry—oh, poof cake.

 _Mr. Stark._

May he can probably get away with bending the truth a little, Mr. Stark? Nope. The man seems to have a sixth sense for lies. Where _is_ Mr. Stark anyway? Peter uncovers his face, carefully, and listens for a moment. He can hear Mr. Stark's rapidly speaking voice that he's surprised he didn't notice before. Is Mrs. Potts back? Maybe Mr. Stark finally lost it and is talking to himself. Peter purses his lips tightly before making his way across the room towards the hall.

Why does he feel like he's spying? He _lives_ here.

Peter stands at the end of the hall for a moment, sweeping his gaze across the kitchen-living room for either Stark, but all he sees is Mr. Stark pacing back and forth and Friday's voice. He's not trying incredibly hard to pick up on what either one is saying, though, but Mr. Stark looks...stressed. Actually, Peter's sure he's never _seen_ Mr. Stark looking this panicked before. Usually the mask of indifference covers everything, but his expression is making Peter nervous. Did the police call?

Mr. Stark turns his position so he's looking directly at the hallway and Peter has time to think an " _ah crap"_ in his head before Mr. Stark stops and stares at him. The relief on the man's face is extensive and Peter's lower lip gnawing intensifies. "Peter!" Mr. Stark says in relief.

The relief makes him pause.

 _Something happened._

Mr. Stark quickly closes the distance between them, though Peter doesn't remember him moving and grasps Peter's shoulders, "Are you okay? Why were you late? Did something happen? It's been thirty more minutes than normal and I can't even call the police, and Friday tried to find you, but couldn't and I-I called over a dozen times, where's your phone?" The splatter of questions are spoken too quickly for Peter to really answer and there's a moment of quiet before Mr. Stark _really_ looks at him.

His eyes narrow. "What happened to your face?"

 _He is so dead._

Peter opens his mouth to answer, but the lie feels dry on his tongue and refuses to leave his throat. "I...uh..." He stutters and Mr. Stark's grip on his shoulders tightens to an almost painful intensity. The grip is almost... _possessive_. Angry? Protective?

Mr. Stark looks so tense that a good prod in the right area will make him unravel. Why is Mr. Stark so panicked? Is it the police? Shouldn't he have left?

Mr. Stark curses under his breath softly before releasing him, "Couch, now." He points in the general direction of the piece of furniture and Peter moves stiffly across the room as Mr. Stark swiftly moves towards the freezer.

Peter sits on the couch eyeing the folded blankets in confusion. Why are they folded? Unless Mr. Stark did that, no one had time this morning. And beyond that, the coffee table is painfully in the center with a tea cup resting on it. It must be one of May's china, because Peter hasn't seen it around before. Weird.

Mr. Stark returns to his line of site and tosses the phone he was using (Peter's pretty sure it's Mrs. Potts's) onto the ground beside the coffee table as he hands Peter the ice wordlessly.

Peter presses it against his bruising face and bites his lip to withhold the sigh of relief. "Did someone attack you? Were you running?" Mr. Stark asks and Peter shakes his head.

No.

Why is he asking?

Should he have been?

Mr. Stark purses his lips and clasps his hands together, "What happened?"

Peter internally sighs. _I'm part of the decathlon again and Flash utterly hates it and is competing me for the place every second of every day I'm at school and instead of ignoring him I sort of snapped and said some stuff and he hit me._

Peter's pretty sure the action startled both himself _and_ Flash which is why instead of catching his balance, Peter tumbled face forward on the stairs. Ned was angry. Peter was a little too surprised to do anything. Yeah, Flash and him haven't been friends since, like, first grade, but Flash has never _hit_ him before.

 _Not this hard._

"Did the police call?" Peter asks, instead, and Mr. Stark's eyebrows shoot up in surprise; as though the idea hadn't even occurred to him. So, no, then. _What has him so panicked?_ Mr. Stark is usually always indifferent, the worry radiating off of him is...strange. And he won't stop wringing his hands.

It makes Peter vaguely sick.

He wishes Mr. Stark would explain, or stop.

"No," Mr. Stark answers, "Pete, seriously, _what happened?"_

Peter bites his inner lip until he tastes blood then exhales with defeat. With some reluctance, he admits: "Someone punched me and I fell down a few stairs."

Mr. Stark's face goes utterly blank. For the moment, that's _much_ worse than an angry one. His eyes hold a fury that Peter doesn't think he'd be able to verbally explain and his lips tighten into a line as his fingers curl. " _Where_?" Mr. Stark says through clenched teeth.

Hit him.

Flash _actually—_

Peter curls and uncurls the fingers of his free hand. His mouth is a little dry and he considers lying again, but Mr. Stark's hard stare drags it from him, "School."

Mr. Stark rises to his feet and stands still for a moment before he grabs the new teacup and tosses it across the room with an angered scream of frustration. The cup hits the wall and shatters glass sparkling down on the carpet.

Peter flinches.

Hopefully that wasn't May's.

Mr. Stark stands still for a moment, breathing heavily. His back is to Peter the gray and black striped hoodie he's been wearing for the last few days suddenly seeming very threatening. Almost like an Iron Man suit, but it's a hoodie and loose clothing. but still frightening. And—yes. This is pathetic. Peter has never been comfortable around violence.

Spider-Man is.

Peter's not.

" _Who_?" Tony's voice is thin.

Hit him.

Flash _actually—_

Peter inwardly squirms. Mr. Stark is going to flipping _murder_ Flash if he mentions anything. Probably with a can of bubbles and a snow globe or something else naturally harmless. Peter pulls the icepack away from his face, fairly uncomfortable. He doesn't want to say anything. _He really doesn't want to say anything._ Yeah, Flash deserves a good knock over the head, but whatever Mr. Stark has going through his head probably has _nothing_ to do with the word "harmless".

What flipping _happened_ well he was at school?

" _Peter!"_ Mr. Stark whirls around fists clenched tightly at his sides. Peter can't help his rear backwards.

The action cause Mr. Stark to still.

Peter bites on his lower lip before the words start pouring out rapidly. "Mr. Stark, really, I—it's fine, I-I'm sure that he didn't really mean to do it and—" Peter starts to defend, but Mr. Stark slams a hand down on the armrest of the couch a few feet from where Peter's sitting.

" _It's not fine._ How dare he! What gives him a right? What makes him so special!?" Mr. Stark seems to say the last part more to himself than Peter, "I'm going to kill him." Mr. Stark mutters under his breath. "I'm going to flipping _kill him!"_

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to curl into fetal position. Alarm bells are ringing dully in his head at how _serious_ Mr. Stark sounds. "Please stop," Peter whispers.

Mr. Stark is quiet.

Peter doesn't chance a look at him.

He keeps his eyes firmly pinched shut.

Somewhere close to seventeen seconds passes in complete stillness, and then Mr. Stark sits on the other side of the couch. His hand is gentle when it touches his shoulder, but Peter still draws back from it a little.

"Hey," Mr. Stark's voice has calmed considerably, "hey, bud, I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm sorry. Peter, will you look at me?"

Peter slowly lifts his head up toward Mr. Stark. The multi-billionaires expression is flicked with guilt, but the most prominent expression is concern. And worry. So much worry. Mr. Stark's grip tightens an infinitesimal amount before he reaches a hand out and gently tips Peter's face up towards the light.

His lips are thinned.

Peter does his best to keep his body from tensing.

He really does try his best to keep the bullying a secret because he _hates_ it when people...it's hard to explain, he just hates it when they _do_ it.

Mr. Stark releases his face and gathers the ice pack off the ground from where Peter dropped it. (He can't remember dropping it, though). "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Mr. Stark asks.

Peter nods slightly, "I landed on my hands, mostly, but I hit my chest against one of the edges."

Mr. Stark's face hardens some again and he releases Peter before running a hand through his hair and starts to pace back and forth. He mutters something darkly under his breath that Peter doesn't catch before turning to look at him again. "Did you see a blonde lady in all black when you were going home?"

Um…?

Peter thinks back.

No? He hadn't really been paying attention, just trying to keep his head down so people wouldn't see his forming bruises. He ran into a stoplight so...that wasn't fun. But that's all he was really focusing on. He could have passed a whole street of people like that and missed it.

"No." Peter says and Mr. Stark visibly sighs in relief. This perks Peter's interest, "...Why?"

Mr. Stark tenses again, "I-uh, I-I met the-the person behind the hacking."

Stutter. _Tony Stark_ just _stuttered._

Peter's eyes widen, "What? _Here?_ Who are they? Did you catch them? You called the police, right?"

"Yes, no and no." Mr. Stark says and turns back to look at him, "Her name is Claree Tren. She was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She's bent on revenge to me. I called Pepper, she's on her way, ETA of two minutes now, I think."

"Less than a minute, actually, Boss. According to the tracking in her phone." Friday calls out from the phone next to the couch. Mr. Stark stills and the remaining color drains from his face before he turns to look at Peter.

"She doesn't have a phone." Mr. Stark breathes.

Peter's eyebrows meet in his confusion, "But, then, _why_ can Friday track her?"

Mr. Stark turns to Peter and grasps his shoulders, "No you don't understand, _I have her phone._ She was using the one at the office today, she shouldn't _have_ a signal."

Realization dawns on him as Mr. Stark lets out a soft curse under his breath. "Tracking beacon. _That's_ how Claree found me. She didn't track me through you, it was _Pepper."_ Mr. Stark thinks aloud swiftly and releases Peter before turning to pace again. The man looks like he's been tasked with sanding the carpet off with solely his shoes. Peter can only watch him with his eyes, struggling to keep up with the new information.

The answers they were looking for _days for_ are suddenly dumped on their laps and Peter honestly doesn't know what to do with it.

" _Mrs. Potts?_ But wasn't she with you the whole time?" Peter asks and Mr. Stark shakes his head running a hand through his messy hair before he gnaws his right hand pointer finger as he thinks. _Mrs. Potts._ Is she okay? Peter still doesn't know her as well as he'd like to but over the last little less than a week, he's grown attached to her. She has to be okay. He can't lose anyone else. Oh, gosh, _May._

"No, she was in the office by herself for a few days," Mr. Stark says and lets out a shaky laugh, it sounds more like he's struggling not to cry, though. "I knew I shouldn't have ran, I should have just stayed there in the Tower and—"

"How would that have helped, Mr. Stark?" Peter interrupts. If he'd stayed he'd be in custody and _that_ wouldn't have solved any of their problems. Peter bites his tongue. He needs to stay calm because of they both start freaking out (which Peter is nigh close to hyperventilating) it won't solve anything.

"I would make me feel better." Mr. Stark snaps back quickly before exhaling again. The distress radiating off of him has Peter slightly worried that he's going to spontaneously combust into a sparkling shower of stress, panic, and anger.

"Did you get a hold of my aunt?" Peter asks, trying to down his hysteria. Everything happened so _fast._ Why can't they have a moment to catch their breath?

Mr. Stark pauses, his back to Peter and turns to look at him opening his mouth to answer before a key to the apartment is shoved into the lock. Peter whirls his fingers curling over the edge of his web shooters as Mr. Stark takes several steps forward stepping in front of Peter partially. If Peter wasn't trying to figure out why his stupid spider sense (courtesy of Ned, he honesty could not think of a better name) wasn't ringing in the back of his head he probably would have commented on it. The door swings open and shuts just as swiftly, "Tony!" Mrs. Potts's voice rings into the area slightly high-pitched in panic. Or something along that.

Mr. Stark exhales in relief as Mrs. Potts steps into his line of sight and she walks swiftly towards them. Mrs. Potts walks into the living room area, hair pulled back into a high-ponytail with her bangs swept to the left of her face. After locating both of them she moves and grabs Mr. Stark's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Mr. Stark assures."You?" She nods before Mrs. Potts turns to look at Peter and her eyes widen with a slight intake of breath. Peter suddenly wishes for a paper bag. It's really not _that_ bad...okay, yeah, it hurts but it's not as bad as it could've been. Mrs. Potts releases Mr. Stark's shoulder in her shock.

"Peter, what happened?" Mrs. Potts asks and moves towards him.

"Apparently one of his classmates thought it would be a great idea to shove him down the entrance stairs." Mr. Stark offers, helpfully, if nothing else.

Mrs. Potts whips her head towards her husband, her eyebrows in danger of launching of her face. " _What?"_

Mr. Stark gives a slight hysterical laugh with a tight smile, "Yeah, my thoughts exactly."

"With a little more death," Peter mumbles halfheartedly. Mrs. Potts shushes him gently, before softly grabbing his chin and tilting his head side to side. It looks exactly the same in all lighting! Why are they so insistent on angling it differently?

Mrs. Potts bites her lip and her stance looks calm, tense, but calm.

Peter raises his gaze to meet her eyes and brushes all his previous thoughts to the side. There's a rising fury in Mrs. Potts's eyes that makes him want to shrink and start running swiftly to raise his chances of survival. Whether it's at Flash or something else, Peter isn't sure, but after a moment her jaw clicks in such a way that makes him say _adiós_ to Flash mentally.

If Mr. Stark hadn't already been high-strung on emotion, Peter's pretty sure his reaction would have been even worse. Whatever happened between him and Claree must have really put him on edge. Mrs. Potts releases Peter's jaw and turns back to Mr. Stark, resting a hand on his shoulder her fingers curling around them in the same tight, _possessive_ grip Mr. Stark had earlier.

Mr. Stark lowers Mrs. Potts's phone (that Peter has no memory of him grabbing from off the floor) biting his lower lip and instead of meeting Mrs. Potts's gaze he quickly shifts through something on it. Some of the fury in Mrs. Potts's eyes dies a little, "Tony? What is it?"

Mr. Stark gives a weak smile, not looking up at her, "I—uh, Pep, you don't have a phone on you, right?" The way he asks the question sound so much like a plea for her to deny it that it causes Peter's stomach to sink.

Mrs. Potts glances left in confusion, "No. I don't, you have it. Why?"

Mr. Stark's teeth sink lower into his lip before he moves forward, "Can you take off your coat for a sec?"

Mrs. Potts's grip dies on his shoulder going a pathetic lax. "What? Why? Is something wrong?"

"Maybe." Mr. Stark answers. Mrs. Potts pulls her coat back and tosses towards the couch, revealing the same red shirt she was wearing before Peter left for school. Did neither of them pack extra clothing? Peter thinks back to that night nearly a week ago. Yeah, no, all they had in their hands was the other's _hand._

Peter suddenly feels awkwardly out of place and in the way of this. He wants to help but...he's just useless right now.

Mr. Stark takes Mrs. Potts's left arm, the one that was resting on his shoulder, gently, before rolling up the sleeve to above the elbow and her upper arm. Streams of green data sparkle through her skin and Mrs. Potts intakes such a sharp breath it sounds physically painful. Peter feels his eyes widening at the computer chip and his desire to kick Claree to kingdom come rises with a sudden fiery intensity.

" _Tony—_ " Mrs. Potts chokes and raises her head to look at her husband, blue eyes wide her chest starting to rise and fall at an erratic rate. Peter can feel a strangled breath trying to escape his own throat, but it's not _coming._ Mrs. Potts was…oh, gosh, _Mrs. Potts was injected with a tracking device._ From the expression on her face, she has no idea how to got there, or noticed it. Her eyes are wild and frantic and she slowly raises her right hand to run it over the glowing green strips. Her breath catches and she pales.

Mr. Stark grabs Mrs. Potts's shoulders to reassure her, or steady her, Peter can't really tell and looks her directly in the eyes as Mrs. Potts starts sputtering in panic and he offers reassurances:

"Oh, gosh, Tony, there's the—I don't understand! I don't have any memory of this happening and—"

"Breathe, Pep, it's going to be okay. It's easy to disable."

"And I led her _to_ you—"

"You didn't. _Breathe."_

"I did! I-If I had just known it was there—oh gosh, this-this is all my fault, you'd still be safe and May and our son—"

"Pep—"

Mrs. Potts turns to look at Peter, her eyes starting to grow red-rimmed, "I don't remember this happening, I'm so sorry, Peter, i-if I had never come here your aunt would be alright and then—"

" _What?"_ Peter demands halting the panicked shouting to silence in the rising panic in his chest. Something happened to his aunt? Is she okay? Why didn't Mr. Stark tell him? Did Classie-whatever-it-was get her? Oh man, not May, oh, _please no, no, no._

"You didn't tell him?" Mrs. Potts asks, raising her head to look at Mr. Stark, breathing if possible, picking up pace even more rapidly. Peter spares a quick glance towards the oven behind them the digital clock happily blinking four thirty seven. She should have been home over twenty minutes ago. Unless traffic was bad but it's not at this time.

"I—" Mr. Stark starts and Peter turns to look at him.

" _What happened?"_

Mr. Stark pauses, "I couldn't get a hold of May's phone. Friday tracked it to the hospital, she hasn't left yet. Friday has confirmation from the police that a hostage situation started about ten minutes ago."

" _And you didn't tell me!?"_ Peter vociferates.

"I was _going_ to, but then _this_ came up!" Mr. Stark counters.

"She's my aunt!" Peter can feel his voice rising steadily in his anger.

"I wasn't going to keep it from you!" Mr. Stark snaps.

"I-I have to go after her, she needs my help. I—" Peter starts to turn to race to his room to grab his Spider-Man suit, but Mr. Stark grabs his arm, somehow without moving, or jerking Mrs. Potts, who his other hand is still resting on in the process.

"No."

" _What!? Why?_ I can't let her stay there! She could die!"

"You don't know that." Mr. Stark says and Peter rips his arm away from Mr. Stark's grasp.

"You don't understand! I can't sit by and do nothing!" Peter protests. _This can't be Ben again. It can't be Ben again._

"You won't be!"

"I—what?" Peter stops mid rant in confusion and surprise. Didn't Mr. Stark just refuse to let him go? Why is he doing something now? They can't do anything in the apartment, but Mr. Stark literally just said...Mr. Stark glances at Mrs. Potts again before exhaling.

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" Peter and Mrs. Potts say the question in sync and Mr. Stark meets eyes with his wife again his panicked hazel meeting her wide blue.

"I got them into this mess, I can't sit by and do nothing."

"But Tony, I—" Mrs. Potts starts then glances at Peter again. Her mouth hangs open for a moment and her eyes soften, whatever resolve she had dies and she exhales softly before looking at Mr. Stark. "Go."

Mr. Stark nods before looking at Peter, "Go get your suit, Webs, and we'll go."

Peter hesitates, "Do you have a weapon or…?"

"Yes." Mr. Stark grits through his teeth before waving him off. Peter nods slightly, doing his best to ignore the lie and turns to the hallway before breaking into a sprint to find his backpack.

000o000

Pepper prides herself on her patience and ability to remain calm in situations that would have most people driven to the edge of insanity. This? This is a little more than her frazzled and panicked brain can take at the moment.

Peter disappears down the hall and Pepper raises her left arm and runs her right hand along the wire again wincing, though she can't feel anything and bites her lip. She wants to tug out all her hair then kick something aggressively while screaming, "it's not fair" at the top of her lungs. She was just trying to _help_ and she made it _worse._

As much as she struggles to bring up any memories of when the strip could have been planted, _nothing_ is coming up. It's not really helping with her rising desire to throw up.

"Tony—" She starts in a hushed panic tone, but as soon as the word leaves her mouth he turns from the hall and grabs her upper arms again. Pepper struggles to take in normal breathes, but all she can feel is the anxiety in her stomach because this is _just like Extremis_ with the waiting _for days_ as her body slowly collapsed in on itself with the fire rushing through her veins and then the gasp of air before she tumbled and fell and _fell—_

"Breathe, Pep, please." Pepper snaps back to the present and still can't get the breath. She inhales deeply, forcing her breathing to steady as Tony gently runs a hand through her hair. "It's going to be okay." He assures quietly. Pepper bites back the tears and the panic that's been building since they stepped foot in the Parker's apartment.

She squishes it as best she can, or buries it to think about at a later date.

Peter and Tony will get Mrs. Parker and they'll find a way to solve everything from there.

 _It's going to be okay._

Pepper raises her head, determination rushing through her. This will not be the end. She's going to find a way to fix this, to help them, because Ms. Tren can't take Tony from her. She meets Tony's gaze, "We'll find a way to fix this. Everything will be fine, Tony." She assures and he gives a tight smile. "You better come back, Mr. Stark, or I'm going job hunting." She threatens.

Tony laughs his face lighting up in a way she hasn't seen for days now, "Ha! Yeah, what threat." He snickers. He takes Pepper's left hand and holds it to her sight-line the wedding ring shimmering in the pale lighting.

"I'm yours forever, Ms. Potts, I'll be back." Tony promises. Pepper nods giving a small smile. The two of them turn as Peter comes down the hall, slightly breathless, holding his mask with one hand and tosses a broken phone on the couch with his other. Tony raises an eyebrow at the sight.

"And that would be?"

"My phone," Peter answers, "It got smashed when I fell."

Pepper's fists curl tightly a slight mother-rising fury resounding within her brightly like a burning sun. The feeling is weird, but not unwelcome, but she wants to kick something because _how dare the stupid kid touch hers?_

"That is garbage." Tony says pointedly and Peter nods slightly in agreement.

"Are you ready?" He asks and Tony nods his fist curling around something in his right hand. Pepper isn't sure what it is and doesn't ask because the two of them need to leave to go get Mrs. Parker before something worse happens to the woman. _A hostage situation._

Is it related to Ms. Tren—

Pepper nearly laughs out loud.

 _Of course it is._ She wouldn't settle for anything else. Pepper spoke with her briefly, after S.H.I.E.L.D. fired her, Ms. Tren came looking for a job at SI. Pepper didn't hire her, and Ms. Tren was none to happy and terrorized the company until the Avengers intervened personally.

Peter moves forward and Tony walks beside him grabbing the door to the apartment. Pepper bites her lip, "Be safe." She commands and Tony gives a half smirk.

"Aren't I always? Actually, don't answer that."

Peter rolls his eyes slightly before meeting Pepper's gaze, "We will." Peter says firmly.

Pepper runs a hand along her upper arm shoving down the flare of panic because she has a _tracking beacon in her skin._ She gives a small tight smile, but can't quell the sinking feeling in her stomach. A memory flares in her head and after Peter walks out the door she calls to Tony: "Go get 'em, boss!"

Mr. Stark laughs softly, "You complete me!" He shuts the door with a swing and the silence surrounds her like a blanket. Pepper leans back against the couch slightly resting a hand over where her erratically beating heart is. He'll be fine, they'll both be fine.

Nothing is going to happen.

Pepper releases a shaky and closes her eyes.

 _She hopes._


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated on April 15th, 2019**

* * *

Chapter Eight:

May has never willed an elevator to go faster in all of her life. Her hands are shaking, her brown, stick straight hair falling in front of her face as she silently glares at the floor numbers slowly climbing upwards. The man standing beside her in the elevator looks slightly sickly with his long black hair framing his face in a way that makes the pale color of his cheekbones gut out. It makes her wary of him.

But not enough to wait until he got off.

All she wants to do is find her kid, the Stark's, and then strangle something in her panic.

The pulse of all the electricity dying had left her feeling uneasy and balance-wise nothing before the backup generators had kicked in. As did the men with guns. They had carefully instructed herself and the employees to pull out all the patients to transfers, and then leave the building as quickly as possible or they'd shoot.

She'd reacted on panic and had immediately complied with the dozens of other nurses and doctors stuffing as many people as they could into ambulances for transfers silently grateful that they weren't very full today. All their phones were dead, and, after she left the building, unneeded by the other doctors it had buzzed to life with over a dozen messages from an unknown number (Tony's) than three from Peter and one from another labeled under Stark Industries she mapped to Mrs. Stark.

Something had happened.

She called Peter a few times, but got nothing and immediately decided to return to the apartment. So now, she stands in the elevator her foot tapping hands wringing and the sickly businessman staring at her with annoyed confusion.

First floor floor.

Second.

Third.

It dings and May sighs in relief before rushing out of the elevator and managing to keep her pace to a barely contained run as she breaks towards the apartment door. She shoves the key into the lock and twists it before all but throwing herself into the apartment.

"Peter!" She calls before turning to the key and giving it a firm yank. It sticks for a moment and May glares at it heavily listening desperately for the answering call. He has to still be here because if he's _not_ May honestly has no idea what she's going to do. Probably cry, and then call the police. But what can she report? He's with a wanted criminal or—she has no idea what to do if her kid isn't here.

" _Peter!"_

May manages to yank the resisting key from it's death grip, and swings the door shut before scrambling into the apartment.

Everything is quiet save the TV going off in the background (something Peter doesn't do, he has a burning passion of hatred for TV) for a moment before a sharp gasp of pain grasps her attention. May whirls from her position in the middle of the hallway-like space between the living room and kitchen towards the latter her eyes widening. She struggles to keep her jaw from falling as the watches the knife gleam in the light.

" _What the heck are you doing!?"_ May yells, struggling to keep her voice down from the high-pitched level it rises to. Honestly, the last time she can remember feeling this shocked, yet utterly horrified, was after she saw Peter in the suit for the first time.

Mrs. Stark twists her body towards May from where she's leaning over the sink, left sleeve rolled up to almost her shoulder, a kitchen knife in her right hand her left is over the sink where she's digging into her skin with the blade. "I—" Mrs. Stark scrambles for words for a moment before her eyes widen and she drops the knife into the sink.

"You aren't at the hospital?"

"Obviously!" May says the hysteria present in her voice.

It's embarrassing.

May bites at her tongue sharply.

Mrs. Stark lets out a low curse before grabbing the knife and shoves it into her arm again, this time with more persistence. May's eyebrows shoot upwards and every doctoral instinct within her reaches out as she drops her bag on the ground and leaps forward across the counter grabbing Mrs. Stark's wrist. She's too late, though, whatever Mrs. Stark was do is done because Mrs. Stark flicks the blade up and a black wire flings from her skin onto the rim of the sink.

Mrs. Stark meets May's eyes in surprise and May feels her hand's grip die. "Oh, gosh," May groans and drops her head onto the counter. She cannot take this anymore. May lets out a desperate moan of stress. She's going to lock Peter up in the apartment—or maybe she'll move them both of Wyoming, _nothing_ happens in Wyoming. He'll be safe and she can be a happy helicopter parent without worrying that he's going to die every other second.

Yes, that sounds like a great plan.

How much does it cost to move across country?

Mrs. Stark turns on the sink, probably to clean the blade that May doesn't plan on using ever again, and May see's her grab whatever the thin black stream of wire was that now that she can actually see it has several small streams of green light pulling off of the main cord and drops it down the drain.

May curls her fists around the countertop before looking up, "Answer me honestly, please." May begs and Mrs. Stark turns to look at her wrapping her right hand across her left's wound." _What was that?"_

Mrs. Stark gives a small grimace, looking very much so like she's trying not to cry out, "A tracking device."

May bolts upwards, her feet hitting the tile behind her with a low _thump_ as she slams her hands down on the granite-countertop. " _What!?"_ She's had a tracking device in her arm and May let her stay here and Peter and—no, no, no, no! "Where is my kid!?" May demands and then turns looking back at the living room for the other Stark, but finds nothing. "Where is your husband?" May says and bites back her tears before turning to look back at Mrs. Stark.

"They went after you," Mrs. Stark says and May feels all the color drain from her face. "Tony tried to get a hold of you but your phone wasn't picking up and the police said there was a hostage situation so they—"

"But there wasn't!" May interrupts, "There was men with guns and they had us pull everyone out of the hospital. There's no one _in the building,_ that was over forty minutes ago!" May corrects then runs a hand through her hair before letting out a curse.

"Do you have your phone?" Mrs. Stark asks and May nods before shoving her hands into her nurse coat pocket with shaking hands trying to dig the tech from it. After a moment of scrambling she hands it to Mrs. Stark's outstretched hand who takes it with a small grimace of pain. May turns to her bag to grab a bandage she's sure she has in there to wrap Mrs. Stark's arm with as Mrs. Stark punches numbers into the screen.

May looks up slightly as Mrs. Stark gives a small cry of pain, but by the time her gaze sweeps over the CEO she has a blank expression. Mrs. Stark holds it close to her ear for a moment before a low ring sounds from the couch. May and Mrs. Stark turn to the piece of furniture slowly.

Mrs. Stark lets out a soft curse before hanging up and tossing the phone across the room with an angered cry. "Tony, you idiot!" She hisses sharply. Her jaw clenches tightly.

May can feel the panic rising in her chest with every beat of her heart. P _eter was with him, Tony left his phone here and Peter wasn't picking up his._ Only years of doctor training stuff some sort of fake aura of calm into May and she turns to Mrs. Stark with the bandages in her hand. Mrs. Stark. Blood. She's bleeding and they need to take care of that first. "Mrs. Stark," May says softly and Mrs. Stark pulls her gaze to her. May lifts up the bandages. "Your arm is bleeding."

"I…" The strawberry-blonde woman seems to be in a slight daze as she stares in the general area where the TV is her head tilted to the left slightly, eyes glazed.

May exhales slightly, reminding herself that air is a necessity before moving forward towards the still woman. May gently grabs her arm and tilts it so she can see the wound and gives a low hum under her breath. It's not a pretty cut, jagged and long in some areas, but thankfully, Mrs. Stark seems to have missed an artery; nonetheless, it doesn't mean that it isn't bleeding.

May swerves around Mrs. Stark and grabs a dish towel from off the oven handle and flips the sink on running it under the warm water glancing down at the pipe, almost like she can see the tracking strip that isn't there anymore. _Tracking strip?_

May turns back to the Stark and presses the water against the gash. Mrs. Stark flinches and breaks from whatever trance-like state she entered, letting out a shaky breath. In a way, May's grateful for the tracking strip because it's a distraction that she desperately needs right now.

May knows that she's not Peter's mother, she's related to his parents by marriage, not blood, and didn't even know them very well. Ben wasn't close with his older brother anyway, so it was a surprise when the couple stopped by their old house with Peter in Mary's arms. They didn't really offer and explanation just dumped the child on them and left in a breathless walk.

But Peter has been her's since he was six, and May's done her best to care for him. He's her kid. There's a nagging ache and pulse of panic working in her stomach and it doesn't clear. She's almost to the point of hyperventilating, and then calling the police begging them to bring back her kid, but it doesn't matter. If she calls, it will make things worse; she can only hope that they decide that she's not there or Peter asks the police then he can know that they left. She's at the apartment and he can come home and be _safe._

May finishes cleaning the wound and presses her lips together tossing the stained cloth to the side. Note to self: the knife, as well as the cloth are _not_ to be used again. The wound is shaped in a jagged "w" like shape or something closer to a lightning bolt, but it's obvious that Mrs. Stark wasn't able to grab it or she her hands were shaking as she cut. It's deeper in some areas that are still leaking lazily.

May grabs the roll bandages from off of where she'd tossed them onto the counter a few minutes ago and starts to wrap it, "Talk, now." May commands.

Mrs. Stark releases a shaky breath and then she does. After she opens her mouth for the first initial explanation, she doesn't seem to be able to _stop t_ alking. Her words are jumbled and occasionally she repeats herself, but May manages to piece together the story as she bandages. Claree Tren had left a tracking device in Mrs. Stark which had eventually led her _here_ after the storm died enough that humans can move around and see clearly again. The woman had cornered Tony, and Peter had come home and the two set off, May can feel that Mrs. Stark's leaving something out, but doesn't press it. Mrs. Stark had decided to remove the tracking device then go after them in hopes of assisting.

About ten minutes into the explanation, Mrs. Stark and herself had moved to the couch both watching the TV every few minutes or so as the news cast rants on and on about the hostage situation that both of them know isn't existent and it only makes the dread in her stomach sink _more_ because Peter and Tony are walking into a trap.

And they have no way to warn them.

No time.

Mrs. Stark eventually stops talking a little close to two minutes after May is done and runs a hand through her bangs for the umpteenth time glancing at the screen again. There isn't any news, even though, according to them it's been close to an hour and a half since it started. Mrs. Stark honestly doesn't understand why none of her fellow employees haven't come forward to explain the situation.

Then May remembers all the guns.

And the threats.

"Do you think they're on their way back?" May asks quietly, breaking the sudden unspoken rule of silence between the two of them. Doubtful, both of them know it, but May still asks it, pleading with the fates to have mercy on her unwavering Parker-Luck.

Mrs. Stark nods, "Yeah, I'm sure they are." She agrees and clenches her fists on the couch. They both know that she's lying, but they ignore it.

Both turn their gazes to the screen watching for some sort of _sign_ that the two heroes have gotten there and realized their mistake. Nothing happens. A commercial break starts ravaging on about some sort of toothpaste product that May doesn't care less about. Then a Honda car that contains far more drama than necessary to get the point across.

Minutes tick by agonizingly slow before May feels her breath catch and Mrs. Stark sucks in a breath of horror.

"And we have received word from the police that Spider-Man is in fact in the— _Oh my gosh!"_ The reporter facing the camera lets out a scream of terror, the other people live in the area doing the same the reporter girl leaping backwards her long brown hair sweeping to the side in a movie worthy shot as a sonic _boom_ echoes through the air and the hospital gives a low creak before cracks start to rapidly form upwards from the base.

May slams a hand over her mouth the tread sinking through her crashing like a quickly tumbling downwards train. _Peter is there, Peter is in that building. Peter's going to get crushed, her kid is there and there's no one inside to help him…_

The building gives a loud groan, again, before the interior collapses into the center and a cloud blocks the screen, May doesn't hear the sound but feels Peter's name tear through her throat as she falls to her knees off of the couch as if moving closer to the TV is going to bring her kid to her. Mrs. Stark yells something May doesn't catch because she can't _breathe_ anymore. Peter is there.

 _Peter was there._

May inhales short breaths and doesn't register anything just the horror sinking on her inside before Mrs. Stark puts a hand on her shoulder and explains something to her that May doesn't understand.

"—er. I'm going to the Stark Tower, I'm going to get help." Mrs. Stark says and May looks up at the CEO and shakes her head several times.

"For what!?" She cries, "There under the hospital!" Her voice is rapidly rising in pitch, "There's nothing left to get! They're dead, May, _dead, dead, dead_ …" May gasps and can her vision blurs. Mrs. Stark leans down next to her and grips her shoulder.

It's comforting in a way.

May barely feels it in others.

 _Her kid. The building crushed her kid and it—_

"No, they're not." Mrs. Stark says softly and May shakes her head several times sobs escaping her.

Denial does nothing. They both saw the collapse. Peter is—

Mrs. Stark slowly rests her phone on May's lap, the screen open and blinking open the light flickering towards her blurred vision happily, as if nothing has gone wrong.

A single text is on the back of a white screen, surrounded in a blue box and it takes May almost a full five seconds before she can read it properly.

' _Mr. Stark and Mr. Parker have been captured and they have yet to realize I'm in the suit. Both are heavily injured and we require assistance as soon are you are able, they are blocking my scanners so I don't have a location. Friday should receive this as a text. ;)_

 _-Karen'_

A winky face? Now? Really?

But—

Peter is _alive!?_

May takes in a shuddering breath and turns to Mrs. Stark, "This-this means that—" she starts to say but Mrs. Stark finishes.

"They weren't in the building collapse. I'm going into S.I., I know where we can get some help and there's a suit I plan on stealing. Stay here," Mrs. Stark lifts up a hand as May rips her mouth open to shower the Stark in protests. "You haven't dealt with any of this before and I have a little more experience. Just wait, please."

May clenches snaps her jaw shut and releases a breath. She _should_ stay here, it makes more sense, she isn't a hero, she isn't enhanced and has no idea how to help beyond _getting in the way_ which really doesn't solve anything. It takes May almost a full second to process what Mrs. Stark said and by the time she does, Mrs. Stark is swinging a purse over her shoulder, on her feet and grabbing her coat from where it was tossed lazily onto the couch end some time ago.

"Suit? General Ross destroyed all of Stark's." May says and Mrs. Stark flashes May a small smile.

"Not all of them, I'll update you if we find anything. Thank you for your assistance Mrs. Parker." Mrs. Stark says and pockets the phone before moving towards the door, pulling the door closed and locking it.

Abruptly, May wonders if she'll regret her decision to give Mrs. Stark her spare key. Had that really been this morning? May closes her eyes and leans her head back against the lower edge of the couch wrapping her arms around her chest.

 _Don't let them be dead, please, please, please don't let them be dead._

000o000

Pepper strides into Stark Industries, ignoring the reporters behind her demanding answers to their questions that she doesn't care less about. Her boots clank across the ground in a rhythmic pattern that still sounds awkward from the usual sound of her heels. Pepper walks past the employees scrambling to look like they're doing something important, but Pepper's gaze is locked onto the back of the head of a man she'd been looking for for nearly nine days now.

Pepper's presence parts the crowd surrounding the head of security easily and she comes to a halt behind Happy blinking slowly. He's talking rapidly to someone in front of him that Pepper can't see after a moment she clears her throat.

Happy whirls, his eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise his eyes widening, "Pepper!?" He exclaims in surprise or relief—Pepper can't decipher—and she gives him a smile that she can feel the venom in. Whether Tony told him not to tell her or not, she's still a little frustrated that he didn't say anything to her. She didn't even _see_ him after the press released the story for the first time.

"Happy," Pepper nods her head in greeting and waves her arm, "please follow me."

She walks around him and down the hallway towards where she knows there's an empty office and he trails after her in a way that suggests he's going to his execution. She stands next to the door and holds it open gesturing for Happy to walk inside before her.

He does so, shooting her a confused yet wary look; Pepper steps into the room, and then closes the door behind her. "The package. Where is it?" Pepper demands, not bothering with politeness or anything near that manner. She wants answers. Now.

Tony and Peter's lives depend on it.

Happy's eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hairline before he lets out a sigh and grips the bridge of his nose. "You know, then?"

Yes. They don't have _time_ to trade sob stories. "After Rhodey came back to the compound and he and Tony were working on his leg braces. Tony got a package with a letter and a phone, where is it?" Pepper demands.

Happy shrugs helplessly, "I don't know, the compound? Why do you think _I_ would know?"

Pepper slams her hands down on the single desk in the room, speaking slowly, tying and failing to keep the frustration from her voice: "Tony send it to the Tower three months ago. _You_ cleared the entire thing out with your team, Friday says that you personally cleared out Tony's workshop. _Where is it?"_ Friday can't find it because she doesn't know where went after Peter crashed the plane, Happy _has_ to know where it is or there's nothing.

This seems to perk a memory for Happy and he pauses, drumming his fingers over his arm for a moment eyes rapidly searching the room as he thinks. "I—" He pauses again for a moment before snapping his fingers, "His office, I sent it to his office a few weeks ago. It's probably in a drawer or something."

"Here?" Pepper asks.

"Here." Happy confirms.

Pepper gives a sigh of relief, "Thank you." She breathes and she turns to leave but Happy grabs her arm right arm.

"What happened. Where is he?"

Pepper closes her eyes and exhales softly, silently grateful he didn't grab her wound, but she doesn't have time to explain. "I—I have to get the phone. Friday can fill you in."

"Indeed, Miss." Friday confirms and Pepper turns looking back at Happy who looks like he's well aware Pepper is withholding something from him. Pepper pulls her grip from Happy's and moves towards the door grabbing the handle and twists it but freezes at Happy's question: "What's so important about the phone?"

Pepper bites her lip memories of her conversation with Tony about it sliding into her head. She exhales through her nose, "It's the only way we're getting Tony and Peter back alive." Pepper offers in half explanation before ripping the door open and slipping back into the stream of employees.

000o000

Pepper rips the drawer open with a shaking hand, shuffling through the junk inside of it finding nothing but paper and a few pieces of scrap metal. Pepper shoves it closed and rips open another one. Nothing, nothing and nothing. Pepper bites her tongue and clenches her fists resisting the urge to cry in hopelessness.

"Miss, what type of phone are you looking for?" Friday's calm voice feels the air, though Pepper can sense the edge on it. She has access to all the news stories everywhere, she is inside of the internet. She knows. She knows what happened to Tony and—Pepper slams a hand down on the messy desktop to balance before kicking the fifth drawer shut, "A flip-phone." She says in answer and turns to the other side ripping the top drawer open.

"In the drawer underneath the one you are currently looking there is a phone like you described resting at the bottom." Friday announces and Pepper barely holds back a sob of relief. Pepper shoves the drawer shut and tugs the second drawer open staring at the inside. It's completely empty except a single letter, burned on one edge sitting at the bottom.

That must be _the_ letter. Tony never mentioned doing anything violent to it. The burned edge is rough against her hand as she reaches inside and grabs the phone, pulling it out and slowly turns it on, flipping it open. Pepper moves to the empty stool that Tony should be sitting on working on one project or a another, but isn't. The exhaustion she's been filling for the last few days is attempting to swallow her, but Pepper ignores it in favor of this.

She exhales slowly.

She flips through the various items on the phone, ignoring the stupid game and goes the contacts. A single number is listed. Pepper inhales shakily before pressing call and raises the phone to her ear. Her left hand clenches as the anxious bubble builds in her stomach, as, where the tracker was removed stings slightly.

The phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

"Tony?" Pepper's feels her breath catch at the familiar sound of Steve's voice. She hasn't heard it since before Siberia. Since before she and Tony had the split when Steve and the other's left to find Rumlow.

Pepper doesn't hold back the sob this time and she closes her eyes, pressing her freehand against her chest, gripping the shrapnel necklace tightly. _Tony's fine, he's alive, everything will be fine._ Pepper had previously had an entire few lines prepared for the captain, but as soon as his voice fills her ear her mind goes blank. "Steve." She says, her voice is thick.

Stupidly thick.

She tries to clear her throat, but all she succeeds with doing is making her eyes moist.

Steve is quiet for a moment, "Pepper?"

Pepper bites her lower lip, "Yeah."

She exhales stiffly and is about to talk, but Steve beats her to it: "Is something wrong? I...I heard about the weapons—Tony didn't actually…?" Steve trails off for a moment in silence and Pepper can almost see him shake his head, and any angry retort dies on her tongue as he answers his own question: "No, he wouldn't."

Pepper forces her breathing to steady, "He didn't—there was a virus inserted into his system it...covered everything. Friday managed to pull more of the important data before she was shoved out. Steve—this person, this _woman_ wants Tony dead and oh, gosh, w-we were staying with Spider-Man and they left to go get his aunt and there was the building collapse and there weren't any survivors and she has them, Steve, she has my family, my husband and Peter, and—" Pepper says her voice rapidly picking up the pace the longer she speaks.

"Pepper, _Pepper_ , calm down," Steve commands, his voice is calm, but it's painfully tight, almost like he's being watched or he's deeply worried about something. If he were present, Pepper can imagine his eyebrows would be lowered in concern. "Start at the beginning." He prods quietly.

After a shaky breath for the second time today, she does. She explains about Claree, the initial attack, who Peter is, and then what Tony told her after he called her in her office this morning—had it really only been _then?—_ and then about Karen's text. It takes a few minutes, but Steve doesn't interrupt just listens and after she's done she gnaws on her lower lip silently.

Pepper squeezes her eyes shut and clutches the phone a little tighter, "Will you help me? Please, Steve, Friday already called Vision and Rhodey, but I don't think it will be enough. I know that you and Tony aren't exactly—"

Steve gives a soft laugh and the sound of it startles her enough to snap her mouth shut. "Pepper," Steve says her name still with a small tinge of laughter in his voice, but she can sense the seriousness. Steve offers his answer softly and Pepper barely manages a tear filled reply before Steve shouts something indistinctly and hangs up.

Pepper lowers the flip-phone and stares at it quietly looking at the single number entered into the contacts and closes her eyes. The conversation hadn't lasted more than five minutes, but the relief that's flooding through her doesn't feel...well, _right._ Tony would be mad at her for going to him so quickly, but Pepper honestly doesn't care anymore. She just wants _him_ to be _alive_ and there weird family to be together again.

That includes the Avengers.

And now Peter.

Pepper gives the phone a squeeze and exhales through her nose deeply before resting the phone on the desk. The phone makes a low _clank_ as it presses against the desk, but she gives it little mind staring at the messy gray metal with the desire to cry building in her throat again.

Pepper isn't sure how long she sits there, staring blankly at the desk, but she jumps fully back into reality when a voice she hasn't heard since before Sokovia quietly says: "Pepper."

She whirls on the stool and her eyes widen as her jaw falls slightly. She stares at the man standing in the lab behind her looking a little better than cadaverous. His black hair is a mess of curls and the sweater he's wearing has some holes that looked like they were hastily patched. He's wearing some sort of green shirt underneath with loose black pants and a pair of tired looking tennis-shoes.

Pepper blinks several times trying to calm her racing mind and assure it he's real. Because she hasn't _actually_ lost her mind and started seeing hallucinations yet, or at least, she hopes so.

"Bruce?" She asks in an even quieter tone.

Bruce, from across the room, gives a small nod.

She exhales heavily before her jaw clenches and a fire sparks in her looping emotions. She strides across the empty space her boots not giving the same, _clank_ her heels do, but she reaches Bruce in less than five steps before rising her hand and smacking him across the face.

000o000

" _Dad!"_

" _Daaaaad!"_

If he had one word to describe Wakanda, Clint would choose remote. It's warm, for sure, but it isn't unbearable. Though it certainly wouldn't be his first choice for camping out, Clint had little choice in the manner. It's not like the farm, out in the middle of nowhere has a sense of home and belonging that Wakanda just doesn't.

At the sound of his daughter's cry, Clint leaps to his feet from the desk he was sitting on next to the piece of paper Laura's sketching on, and is halfway across the room before Lila meets him the middle and comes to a halt panting, trying to quell down the panic. Lila's voice sounds laced with panic that only makes him want to grab the knife in his boot and throw.

Clint lowers to his knees swiftly and grabs her small shoulders, "Lila? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Lila gasps again as Laura comes to a halt next to his side looking down at their daughter with equal worry. Lila's small chest sucks in several gulps of air and Clint rests a hand against her face feeling for a fever or some sort of ailment. She shakes his hand away and after a few seconds she's caught her breath enough to talk.

"Th-the _stairs."_ She gasps and the eight-year old pauses as he and his wife share a look of confusion. Stairs? She ran all the way here to tell them about _stairs?_ "There must be _millions._ There's at least twelve." She says and takes in another deep breath, pressing a hand against her chest trying to calm her breathing.

Clint's eyebrows meet, "Is that it?"

Lila shakes her head several times, "No, no," she says and heaves for air again, "I was bored and Uncle Steve said that he didn't want me wandering around all by myself—which I thought was stupid, I'm old enough to take care of myself. Did you guys know that T'challa has, like, thirty fountains in a single room? That's weird."

"Lila." Laura gently prods her, trying to shift her back on track to whatever it is she ran in here for. If it's the government, the Avengers are going to have to split again, running in separate directions and Clint and Laura will have to find somewhere else they can take their family and disappear to.

Lila snaps back into focus. "Sorry. But, like, Uncle Steve took me into the training room where he said that Aunty Nat was waiting so we walked in there and I sat down on one of the benches playing with one of Aunt Nat's bracelet things. Did you know that it can shoot a string out? It's perfect the zip-line for Polly Pockets!"

"Lila—" Clint starts to prod again, concern starting to grow. Why would Natasha let Lila play with her wrist gauntlets? They are extremely dangerous to anyone who doesn't know how to use them. Tony can attest to that, as he was zapped dozens of times over the course of trying to modify them. Natasha also never lets his kids play with her weapons. Ever. She must have been extremely distracted.

"Sorry, Dad! But anyway, they were talking about something, I think that Aunt Nat was getting mad at Uncle Cap for overworking himself because he's worried about Uncle Tony, but the argument ended when Uncle Steve got a phone call."

Lila pauses for breath and Clint feels his stomach sinking and a small rise of furious resentment building as well. They aren't supposed to have phones, or laptops or _anything_ electronic. T'challa firmly said disagreed, so they agreed with it, they can be tracked from it. That was his explanation when Wanda had asked why. That was that. It's a danger to his family so Clint dropped it. "Who called?" Clint asks and Lila pauses, looking stumped for a moment. After nearly four seconds of torturous silence, Lila nods her head and decides: "Table salt did."

"Table salt?" Laura repeats in disbelief.

"Yes! That's what I said!" Lila agrees before turning her gaze to him again, "Dad! Cooper said that salt can make you sick, and I don't wanna get sick, but I already ate the bread that they gave us and Cooper said that there was lots and _lots_ of salt in it and that's why it tastes so weird!" She cries, and Clint clenches his jaw slightly as he and Laura, in near perfect sync turn their heads to the thirteen year old sitting on the couch innocently flipping through _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince._

"Cooper," Laura starts softly, a sigh in exasperation. Cooper looks from the book and raises his eyebrows in sarcastic distress before turning back to the book, unguilty, and flips another page. Laura shakes her head fondly before both of them turn back to the young girl in front of them.

"Cooper's just messing with you, honey," Laura assures, "Uncle Steve and the table salt. What happened?"

It takes Clint another moment before the realization hits him. "Pepper. Did Steve call Pepper?" He asks and Lila nods even more aggressively.

"Yeah! That's what it was? Why was he talking to a spice?" Lila asks and turns to look at Laura for an explanation. Laura gives a small smile and shakes her head.

"No, _Pepper_ as in Uncle Tony's wife."

Clint sighs slightly at the reminder and purses his lips together.

He missed the wedding.

He spent _years_ trying to get the two into wedlock and he _missed_ it.

All because of the stupid Accords.

It took so much from all of them.

" _Oooh."_ Lila nods, "Anyway, they talked then Steve hung up. Aunty Nat was really mad and she slapped him, I think that he's going to have her hand print on his face for a few days, it look painful—but she was really angry." Lila turns to Clint, a thought apparently just striking her because the utter horror on her face appears in less than a second, "Is she going to kill him? I like him! _Dad,_ don't let Aunty Nat kill him!"

Laura gives a tight smile, "I don't think she will."

Lila sighs with relief, "Uncle Steve yelled at her—I've never heard him yell before it was scary. Except the one time that he was babysitting us and Cooper wanted to make a smoothie and the blender exploded. But he was panicked, though, does that count?"

"Lila." Clint and Laura say in sync and she snaps back into focus.

"Sorry. Aunty Nat was quiet after that and she agreed to help him. Uncle Steve turned to me and told me to tell you that you need to tell Wanda and Bucky—did you know that he can crush soda cans with his bare hand and it doesn't hurt, Mom? T'challa was helping with his new metal arm and I probably shouldn't have been watching, but Wanda was there and I wanted to be there, too, but they had him crush the bottle to make sure it was working right. He has such long hair! Why doesn't anyone else have long hair like him?"

"Lila," Clint says patiently though it's running short, " _What_ did he say you need to tell me."

"Oh yeah. He said that you need to meet him on the landing bay in twenty minutes, the Avengers are assembling to rescue Uncle Tony."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated April 15th, 2019**

* * *

Chapter Nine:

"Stop that," Wanda's accented voice cuts through his bored gaze, and he idly lifts his gaze from the article to the bench she's sitting on. Her eyes are sharp with remaining red haze as her hands twitch from where their rotating around Bucky's face.

The former assassin's hair is tucked back into a ponytail, (courtesy of Natasha, Wanda's is pulled into a braid, also via Natasha). The red energy pouring from her fingers is wrapped around his head, almost tenderly. Sam resists the urge to give another bored sigh, and flips through the page on the newspaper he has in hand, again, scanning over the words, but hardly processing anything. It's not like it's a new topic anything: the news is exploding about one story only: _Tony Stark: Proven Terrorist._ The theories about it are bordering to the point of utterly ridiculous and the reasons on why the police have no leads are even more so.

On one page that Sam boredly glances over the big hypothesis is that Tony _did_ die in Afghanistan, and that they've merely been haunted by his ghost seeking revenge for the wrongdoings done to him in his life; that's why the police can't find any leads on him. Another insists that Tony has been under the control of Loki the entire time since the battle of New York. One is even proposing that Tony is an evil scientist and injected himself with something that drove him utterly mad, another states that Tony is part alien. Sam doesn't really care for the stories to much, he's already firmly made up his mind on the matter but he's bored. Mind boggling, hair tugging in frustration, _bored._ Sam sighs, again.

Steve's been working himself to the bone since the T'challa tossed the newspaper their way and quickly departed the gym where no manner of talking or coaxing has managed to get the super soldier to sleep, stop pounding things, or convince him that it's not his fault. Bucky had finally tugged his surrogate brother to the side, and then grilled the information into his head that the stories on Tony _are not his fault._

Steve had insisted though, that because of their dubbed "Civil War" the billionaire had finally lost his grip on sanity and _had_ sold the weapons. Bucky had been persistent.

Sam lets out a whistling breath and flips the page on the news article the stories going from Tony Stark's world-wide betrayal to an article for adopting puppies. Huh, abrupt. Sam shrugs slightly before starting to scan the page glancing at the picture of a small golden retriever sticking its tongue out at the camera. Sam doesn't really like dogs, though. His mother had a severe allergy to pet hair and to be honest with himself, Sam doesn't really...well dogs _frighten_ him mildly.

T'challa probably wouldn't like it if he adopted the dog anyway. Sam purses his lips together before, sighing, for the umpteenth time, again.

" _Stop it."_ Wanda insists.

Sam flicks his gaze up once more.

After they escaped to Wakanda, Wanda has been working on slowly turning off and sweeping out everything that Hydra left in Bucky's mind, with the help of Shuri. It's been a slow process, but they're getting somewhere. Now Wanda's mostly sweeping for any remains that she missed. But, unfortunately, because both of them are stuck inside of Bucky's head, is necessary for someone to babysit them as Wanda works so that way in case of an emergency someone can pull them out. Sam had been volunteered for today.

"Stop what?" Sam asks, idly biting his tongue slightly as Bucky's eyes open and he shoots Sam a small glare, red haze lingering in his eyes as well.

The glaring is nothing new.

The red is, though, and it does intensify the glare into something that makes him vaguely wary.

Wanda's hands are still raised around Bucky's head and the frustration is evident in her features, "Stop, _sighing;_ I can't focus." She explains and Sam nods and flips the magazine.

"Sorry." He mumbles, but it's only half hearted. He feels Wanda's frustrated glare remain on him a moment longer before she inhales again and the red haze floats around the room once more, snapping at some things and gently pressing against others. It mostly surrounds the two on the bench, but it does spread out in waves, flowing with Wanda's emotion.

It's something that makes him wary, admittedly, but he'd never admit that to the young adult.

She already fears enough.

Him being afraid of _her_ won't help that.

Sam lifts his gaze upwards in confusion as footsteps pound down the hall and Sam has a little under five seconds to grab his gun and rise to his feet before the door is thrown open and Natasha and Steve throw themselves into the room. The door smacks against the wall and Wanda and Bucky jump, the connection between the two snapping instantly and Wanda gives a wince of pain before they all swivel their heads towards the two.

Natasha's blonde hair is pulled away from her face in a high-ponytail and she's wearing her Black Widow suit. Steve is also in his suit, minus the shield and cowl, a gun strapped to his back. He's slightly breathless, but the folder in his hand is waved back and forth a few times, almost like by frantically spinning his hand he can get them to understand what he wants.

"What is it?" Wanda asks, rising to her feet, Bucky doing the same behind her.

Natasha shoves a blade that she had in one hand into a sheath on her belt, "Tony's been captured, Pepper called."

Sam raises an eyebrow in surprise as Wanda's shoot upwards and Bucky tilts his head. "Aren't we not allowed to have phones?" Bucky asks softly.

Steve bites his lower lip as Natasha nods, sending a glare at the captain, "In _theory."_ She agrees and shakes her head slightly with a roll of her eyes in exasperation. "Steve forgot to mention that he has a flip phone he gave the number to Tony of. Pepper said that Tony's been captured by Ms. Tren." At this, Natasha flips the folder open and Sam stands to look at the information relayed in the inside.

' _Brain waves manipulation, un-authorized testing, and stealing and relaying information from S.H.I.E.L.D. to unauthorized parties. Shut down by Tony Stark, currently assistant to government official, General Ross_.'

She's been busy. Is it terrible that Sam's not even remotely surprised that this woman is working with Ross?

Bucky's fingers curl slightly and Wanda's jaw clenches. "This woman has Tony?" She asks. Steve nods and runs a hand through his hair.

"Tony was framed by her, according to Pepper. She said that they've been staying with Spider-Man—Peter Parker—for the last few days." Natasha adds. "There weren't any weapon shipments."

Sam, in an attempt to ease the tension, slams a hand against his chest, "Tony sending out weapons? When did this happen?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, "Have you read anything T'challa's given us?"

Sam makes a humming noise of thought and slowly lifts up the magazine he was reading where the cover, states, in clear bold: _Iron Man—A Villain!_ "No, that doesn't sound familiar."

Steve bites his lip, "Look, guys, I know we all aren't on the greatest terms with Tony right now, but he needs us." Steve lets out a sigh in between his teeth, "Tony's...I've already let him down once. I'm the team leader, it's my _job_ to be there for everyone. He's family, and family doesn't give up on each other."

Wanda and Sam share a look for a moment. Sam's worked with the billionaire longer than Wanda has, but Wanda's been staying with Tony when not at the Barton's. She probably knows him better than Sam, admittedly. Wanda nods slowly, "I'm coming with you; Clint and Scott?"

Steve gives a small nod, "We ran into Clint and Laura in the hall, Clint's grabbing his bow and Scott's getting Cassie to Laura. Sam?"

Sam nods slowly. He isn't sure where he stands with all of this. On the one hand, he's ready to totally believe everything the news says and even offer some of his own, on the other, it's really, _really,_ far fetched. He's worked with Tony over a hundred times and the cocky outward appearance can drive him utterly crazy then he goes and does something so unbelievably selfless that Sam gets shown again and again on why he's Iron Man.

Steve gives an affirmative nod then turns to meet the eyes of his brother-from-another-mother, "Buck? If you don't—I totally understand but I—" Steve starts to say but Bucky lifts up a hand, effectively silencing the blond.

"No, it's my fault you're in this mess. I want to help."

Steve looks like he wants to protest, then nods again and gives Natasha a relieved look before turning to his team, Captain America mode engaged. "Good, suit up and meet us in the landing bay in ten."

000o000

"My king? The Avengers have stolen a ship, should we shoot it down?"

T'challa doesn't turn from his position in front of the window, staring out at the rising ship and gives a small shake of his head, barely containing the small smile that graces his lips. "No. They are are going to help their comrade. Let them pass." T'challa says quietly, Okoye nods and swiftly exits the room to relay the information.

T'challa watches the dot rapidly disappear into the distance, "Good luck, Avengers. " He murmurs softly.

000o000

" _Oh, gosh," Tony moans, wrapping his arm around his stomach as the nausea pulsing through every available cell it can and he heaves again. "I think I'm going to die."_

" _You're not going to die." Peter says behind him, slightly irritably yet somehow containing laughter in his voice at the same time. This doesn't help Tony's stomach settle nor his emotional state._

" _I_ am _!" Tony insists and squeezes his eyes shut, his right hand clenching around the small bottle in his hands._

" _You're fine." Peter promises._

 _Tony waves a hand back towards him in disagreement before he sits back on his heels, "I'm okay, I'm okay," He silently promises himself, "It's just still spinning and—oh, do not let me do that again."_

 _He can't see Peter's face, but he can feel the eyebrow raise at his back, "We need to go, Mr. Stark." Peter says, reminding him of the dire situation. Tony takes in a few more gasping breaths for air trying to settle his rocking stomach._

" _Yeah-yeah, Karen, have her scan the building. Oh, gosh, how do you stomach that_ every day _?" Tony asks rhetorically. He turns to look back at the teen who, in response, shrugs in answer. After Peter's realization that them walking from the apartment to the hospital would take to long, he suggested that they swing there. Tony, unaware of how utterly terrifying it is, agreed without a question. They have to get to May before something happens and that seemed like the quickest way to do it._

 _He's never, for as long as he lives, going to do that again. Flying is safe, flying is nice, calm, relaxing, has Friday included, his own systems, and he's not clinging to the back of a fifteen year old who took great pleasure at his screams. Peter had to figure out a way to the hospital that was less populated. Needless to say, him clutching Spider-Man is likely got filmed and the police will be here shortly._

 _Which—amazing._

" _Karen says that there's a group of about thirty on the bottom level." Peter announces almost a minute later, "No guards through the other levels, they're all on the bottom."_

 _A very uneasy feeling sinks into his stomach, but Tony pushes it aside because in all honesty, he and Peter are aware this is a trap._

 _They're not stupid._

 _Claree may think otherwise, but they're not. Tony purses his lips before rising to his feet slowly, ignoring the pulse of displeasure his still-swinging stomach gives before turning to look back at Peter. The mask covers his face so he can't see his expression and honestly? Tony's slightly grateful for it._

 _Tony exhales softly, wrapping his fingers around the small bottle in his hand before meeting what he's pretty sure are Peter's eyes, "Are you ready?"_

 _Peter gives a shaky nod, "Thank you, by the way, for this."_

 _Tony nods and gives Peter a gentle punch in the upper arm. "Shall we?" Tony asks and gestures to the roof. Peter gives shaky a nod. Their plan is simple: Peter webs up all the bad guys as Tony sets the captives free and directs them to the door. Usually, Tony would take the more dangerous part of the mission, but he doesn't have a suit or Friday. Not without the phone he left in the Parker's apartment._

 _Tony exhales softly, his breath puffing out into the sky before Peter shoots a web at the edge of the roof and gives a small glance at Tony before taking a running leap forward and jumps off the edge._

 _After a small moment the web pulls tight and the sound of shattering glass fills the air. Tony exhales sharply before running towards the edge and leans over it, glancing at the dangling web blowing in the wind. He stuffs the precious cylinder into his hoodie pocket, quietly wishing for something warmer, as Peter's hand pokes out a hand curled in a thumbs up and Tony releases a breath._

 _Okay._

Okay.

 _Tony exhales through his nose and tries to stuff down his sudden fear of heights before grabbing the slick web and slowly lowers swings himself over the edge. Tony slides down onto the window sill and climbing through the broken glass doing his best to avoid it. A few of the sharper edges snag at his legs and back, but Tony ignores it and places his feet on the ground happily._

 _Peter sweeps his head across the room and Tony does the same. It's not exactly dark, per say because the cloudy light is still lazily pouring through the windows, but the brightness isn't exactly well aggressive either._

" _Karen got anything?" Tony asks quietly, only raising his voice as loud as he dares. His fingers curl around the cylinder stuffed into the pocket and Peter nods._

" _They haven't moved, the quickest route is through the stairs." Peter says and Tony nods before the two of them move forward quietly. Tony's feet are the only thing really making any noise; Peter seems to be invisible. After a few minutes of them wandering they find the stairs and begin to descend the five stories. The only word between them is the occasional dark mutter of frustration from Peter of, "Karen!"_

 _As they hit the last step to the second floor Peter stops in front of the door. "They're behind this door." Peter says and Tony exhales._

" _Okay, good, you ready, kid?" Tony asks and Peter looks back at him his white eyes wide. His fists are curled into tight balls and his anxiety matches Tony's own with ease._

" _Please tell her to stop." Peter begs._

 _Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm sorry, what?"_

" _Karen," Peter explains with an exasperated tone._

" _Tell her to stop what?" Tony asks._

" _Asking to turn on instant kill mode." Peter hisses, "It's driving me nuts."_

 _Tony smirks slightly his lips quivering into an almost smile and he struggles to keep down laughter. Instead he moves forward and rips open the door to the room before Peter can go first. The darkness hits him in a wave almost immediately and he can feel Peter hover behind him. Tony takes a step into the room. His footsteps echo in the quiet darkness._

 _Someone put some sort of blanket against every window in the room, making the Stygian almost overwhelming. Peter raises his wrists into the area as Tony takes a few more steps warily, stopping as the sound of movement echoes through the air and Tony hears over a dozen gun's safety locks flip off._

" _Mr. Stark?" Peter asks quietly as Tony moves closer to him on instinct._

" _Yeah?" Tony asks, scanning through the darkness and wishing with an almost painful ache that he had a suit. Or a weapon more frightening than the one he currently has._

" _There aren't any captives." Peter says breathlessly._

 _What?_

 _No._

 _That can't be right._

 _They knew it was a trap, but not like_ this. _The news reported it from multiple channels and May was supposed to be here and if she isn't, then—_

 _Tony whips his head towards him, "What—? But Karen said that—"_

 _Peter tackles him to the ground before he can finish the thought, and dozens of bullets fly over them smacking against the wall behind them. Tony's eyes widen as Peter leaps to his feet and fires a web into the darkness. Metal clanks against the empty floor and Tony jumps to his feet, his eyes jumping over various objects._

 _His eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark and he can finally see the outline of shapes. The thirty captives...there was nothing. Just these men in black sitting on the floor, acting like it. Karen doesn't have as updated systems as Friday or Jarvis did, she wouldn't know._

 _She doesn't have that experience._

 _Desks poke out along with the windows covered by some sort of humming device at the bottom. Peter grabs another gun from a man's hand and rips it from his grasp. Why aren't they firing? Are they going to let Peter disarm all of them because that's stupid. And_ why?

 _The gun clatters to the ground again and they all stand still for a moment before the men rush forward and chaos erupts. Tony dodges a punch swung at his head, and grabs the man's wrist in a twist to prevent him from shooting him in the face. With his free hand Tony rips the black helmet off lifts the cylinder he's been faithfully gripping for the last hour or so and pepper sprays the man in the face._

 _The man gives a cry of pain and jerks back to cover his eyes from the sting as Tony gives a half smirk to himself. He grabs the discarded helmet and tosses it at someone else's back who's migrating towards Peter (who is currently on the ceiling) and sprays the man in the face again as he tries to get up._

 _Everything quickly escalates into a blur after that. Tony manages to avoid most of the bullets but one still grazes his left side and another his upper arm. Someone manages to get a good kick at his stomach and another person hits him in the ribs with the end of a gun. The sound of bullets going off is echoing everywhere, but somehow, no one has hit any of the glass yet. Tony and his loyal pepper spray manage to last a lot longer than what he feels they should have. As Tony heaves for breath at his aching ribs and angrily tosses a glare at the man who's staring at him smugly through the helmet (Tony can feel the smugness) Tony hears Peter give a shrieked cry of warning._

 _It's been maybe a minute and a half since the battle started and he hasn't heard the kid's voice so when Peter screams his name with such fiery intensity Tony whips his head to find the teen before said Spider drops in front of him and jerks backwards with a cry of pain. Tony's eyes widen and as Peter stumbles back into him, and he stares down at the teen._

 _Oh no._

No.

 _Please._

 _Peter is—_

 _Don't take his kid from him!_

 _Peter can't—!_

 _Over five bullets holes start to sluggishly bleed and Tony holds Peter close to him for a second the shock not really registering. Peter just took bullets_ for him _. He took the bullets. Just like Pietro did for Clint and Pietro is_ dead _and buried. Peter can't end up like him_.

 _Peter gives a rattling breath that smacks Tony back into reality and he tilts his head to look back at Tony slightly, "I'm s'ry, T'ny, 'm s'y." He chokes, and coughs slightly before he goes limp in Tony's arms. Rage sparks through Tony because_ how dare they touch his son? _Tony grabs Peter's wrist gently, but swiftly yanking off a web shooter and attaches it to his own wrist and fires it at the nearest man dodging a bullet aimed for his head in the process. The web fluid spills out quicker than he was expecting, but he doesn't let his surprise show instead tugs the man close and grabs him by the throat. The man's helmet was already previously removed by Tony; he can tell because the man's eyes are red from irritability of the spray. Tony ignores this._

"Where is May Parker?"

 _The man gives a choked laugh, "At her apartment by now, I'd assume. Watch your six, Mr. Stark,"_

 _Tony drops the man and whirls around quickly, keeping a firm grip on his spider with one hand never making the full gyrate as the end of a metal rod is shoved into his lower spine. Pain explodes across him and Tony lets out a mixed scream of words and pain as electricity shoots across him before his vision tints black and his limbs go limp._

 _Tony falls forward, unconscious before he hits the ground._

 _Peter…! He has to get to him..._

 _Peter…_

 _He…_

 _It…_

 _Sleep._

Tony jerks upwards, a gasp of breath escaping his lungs as the world spins from his sudden movement, the memory crawling back to the hole it originated from. Pain is jerking through his muscles and everything sounds horribly _off_ and his sense of touch feels oddly disconnected.

Tony heaves again and clutches his shirt where his arc reactor was, a phantom pain springing through the scarred area. Tony's chest rises and falls erratically as he sucks in breath attempting to regulate his breathing, but _it's not working._

Tony blinks several times trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings, but he _isn't._ Tony sweeps his gaze across everything in the room and blinks several times. There's four dim lights, one every corner of the windowless room with a table and two chairs resting next to it, in the center of the table Tony can see small figures poking upwards.

Tony glances at the camera in the corner and memories flood back to him with his breath, and the panic, previously breath stealing, escalates upwards. "Peter!" He attempts to shout, but it comes out more so as a muffled breathless wheeze. Tony tries to stagger to his feet, gripping at the wall as spasms of pain wracking through everything. His breath catches, but he shakes his head. He has to get to Peter and get his kid to the medical wing then find Pepper and—he _has_ to find Peter. They can't hold him here. Peter could be dying, he could be _dead (five bullets)_ and Tony's doing _nothing_. He has to help him and—

 _Tony, breathe._

Tony falls back against his back and stays there for a moment, his vision spinning rapidly. He stares up at the metal ceiling hand laying over his stomach like dead weight and the other clutching at his shirt.

 _Peter, Peter, Peter, oh, gosh, he has to get to his son._

He can't let him die.

Why is his body so sluggish!? This isn't fair, it isn't... _right._ Correct. Tony doesn't know the word.

Tony thinks back to the capture as far as he can remember. The last thing he felt was the stab of pain in his back before the electricity—muscle spasms. That usually follows electric shocks for several hours. Which means that he hasn't been here too long.

Maybe.

 _He doesn't know._

May wasn't there. Where is she? Where is Peter? Pepper? This—augh! _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Pepper's going to murder him if he ever makes it back— _when._ Not _if._ Peter and himself are getting out of here even if Tony has to dig a tunnel through the floor to New York with his fingernails and a spoon.

Tony's breathing slowly regulates over the course of what Tony would guess it close to half an hour. His position doesn't change, and the gnawing worry builds up more aggressively, but he stuffs it down to the best of his ability. He can feel the camera watching him steadily and Tony turns his head to meet it eye-to-eye and _scowls._

They touched his kid.

He's going to kill them.

Tony slowly stares around the cell, looking for a way out. The door has a slot for a card, but no handle, and there aren't any windows. Really the only thing in here is himself, the table, chairs and the camera. Maybe he can pull the camera down then slide one of the memory cards into the slot for a key. Doubtful, but when his body stops twitching like it's dying, he'll give it his best shot.

Tony glares at the camera for somewhere close to five minutes until the door gives a loud screech as it swings open with a loud screech. Tony flinches, and raises his gaze to the figure as they step into the room a tray in hand.

Tony's lips curl in slight irritation as Claree moves forward the door swinging shut behind her and she walks into the room, _humming._

 _What sick, twisted—?_

Claree sets the tray down on the desk and shifts something else on it before lifting her head up and gives a wide smile. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be here when you woke up, Anthony! Fifteen hours was a long time, though, and I had something to attend to." She puts her hands on her hips shaking her head as she clicks her tongue, "That spider is _very_ hard to keep put."

Fifteen hours? He was unconscious for _fifteen hours!_? Peter could've bled out by then, he could be _—stop._ Tony deepens his glare to hide his rising panic. "Where is he?" he grits and slowly shoves himself to a sitting position, ignoring the sudden pulsing headache burning behind his eyelids.

Claree's smile twists into a smirk. She waves a hand carelessly, "Oh, around. Please, have a seat—and this time, it _is_ mine to offer."

After a moment of internal debate to just staying there—purely to defy her—Tony realizes that he needs info, she has it, and he isn't going to get anywhere by sitting here. Tony drags himself to his feet and stumbles the few steps before sinking into the chair biting his tongue.

The tray has two tea cups and a kettle in the center that's decorated with smiles and suns. What is _up_ with this woman and smiling? Shouldn't it have like skulls or something? Maybe be all black with no happiness? The smiles just make him want to throw up from the utter _wrongness_ of it. Maybe that's her goal.

Tony exhales slowly and presses his hands against the table before glancing at the chessboard resting towards the left. The king on one side is surrounded by the other pieces and the queen, in an utterly obvious way, is resting to the side to show that she's been removed from the board.

 _Pepper._

 _What did she do to—?_

He eyes it for a moment and then turns as Claree takes a sip of a white liquid. When she realizes he's staring at her, she lowers the cup from her lips and smiles, "I'm sorry, where are my manners? Milk?" She offers. Tony stares at the other cup then back at her.

"Yeah, no thanks." He says. She rests the cup down on the small plate and gives a small shrug.

"Your loss." She sits down across from him and though the tension is tight, Claree looks like someone just offered her an Olympic Medal. She's grinning happily and her blonde hair is pulled away from her face.

"Where is Peter?" Tony demands and Claree smiles before meeting his gaze.

"Tsk, tsk, so impatient. I'm sorry, Anthony, he's occupied. He can't visit you right now, would you like to relay a message?" Claree asks and pulls a small notebook out from a pouch on her upper thigh and clicks a red pen.

Tony clenches his fists, "I don't like you." He states firmly.

Her stupid smirk twitches again and she closes the book, "No then? What about to Virginia? She's getting awfully lonely in her cell." Claree says, almost sadly.

Tony grits his teeth and stuffs down the panic. There's no way they got her. Pepper can take care of herself. She would have removed the tracking device—at least, he's pretty sure. _It has been fifteen hours..._ Claree doesn't know where she is. Tony doesn't. That was the goal when he left the phone on the couch. If she can't be called by him, there is no tracking. Claree doesn't have her. She _doesn't._ Tony refuses to accept that.

"You don't have her." Tony states giving her a small smug smile and Claree's jaw tenses before she sighs with a small roll of her eyes.

"No, I don't. When her tracking beacon lead to a sewer, I got the point." Claree says and shrugs, "An effective way of getting rid of it, I suppose." Claree squints, staring at where his arc reactor should be for a moment and Tony is suddenly self conscious of his hand that's wrapped around it, wedding ring digging into his finger from his death grip. "You had heart problems for a little while, didn't you, Anthony?" She asks the question so softly, almost as if she speaks about it too loudly she'll break something or offend him.

Tony snorts and raises an eyebrow, "No, I had an arc reactor in my chest because it was _fun."_

Claree smiles, "Cute. Yet, so, so fitting." Claree says the last part barely audible before she grabs the kettle, flips the lid off and tosses the liquid towards him in a swift movement.

Tony flinches and ducks, but it still splatters all over him. He coughs slightly and stuffs down the building panic before raising his head to look at her. She's watching him intently, as if waiting for something. Tony licks his lips and wipes the dripping liquid from his eyes before sarcastically asking: "...Am I supposed to start melting?"

Claree's eyes light up with amusement for a moment. "No, no." She rises to her feet and flicks the king over on the chessboard and leans forward, her lips stretching into her disturbing happy smile again, "Checkmate."

Tony raises an eyebrow ignoring the weird buzz feeling his ears. "Are you _sure?_ "

Claree's smile slips, "Anthony, Anthony, _Anthony,"_ she sighs and tilts her head, "you look pale. Sickly. Are you feeling alright?" She's hinting so obviously that Tony feels unconsciously stupid for a full two seconds before the realization hits him. Poison. The water was poisoned taken in through the skin—agh! Curses.

Pure, colorful splattering _rainbows._

As if on cue, a spark of pain smacks through his chest and Tony lets out a gasp, his heart giving a small flutter. Claree leans forward resting her hands across the table, "Yes, Anthony, not quite melting, I hope you don't mind. And while you die here, your heart giving out on you, I will _kill_ your son, brutally. It's so fitting that you, Anthony, a man who had to _make_ a heart, will die because of it." With that stated, Claree grabs the tray off of the desk and moves towards the door. Another wracking ache rings across his entire chest lingering where the arc reactor used to be and Tony coughs, his lungs not working quite right.

No.

Peter.

 _No!_

He's utterly _useless._ He's going to die here, and if he can't get out then Peter won't and—

Tony clutches his shirt tighter then quietly, barely above a whisper states at her back: "They aren't called "Avengers" for nothing."

A spasm wracks through his achy heart.

Claree gives a low laugh and shoves a card into the door and a light flashes green on it. Tony grimaces in pain, again, and Claree opens the door to the brightly lit hall. She glances back at him and before she swings the door closed retorts: "Oh, Anthony, not for you, _never for you."_


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:**

 **Updated April 15th, 2019.**

 **Warnings: Some injury description, outside character death, assumed character death. ;)**

* * *

Chapter Ten:

Despite how much she's traveled, Pepper can honestly say that she has never been to Wyoming. It's a lot drier than she imagined it being, and far less populated. She remembers reading a study a few years ago that Rhode Island has more people, but she'd scoffed, rolled her eyes and shook her head in disagreement because Wyoming is _huge,_ and that's preposterous. And completely true.

Pepper doesn't enjoy heights. Planes are a nightmare for her so she keeps herself buried in her work so deeply she barely notices the flight patterns. Her stomach squirms every time she thinks of planes and she has to sit and shove down her fear into a dark corner of her mind and try to ignore it.

Maybe it's less so much heights, more so _falling._

Donning on an Iron Man suit (one of two that Tony has hidden carefully the other's is Rhodey's) and flying from New York to Wyoming may not have been her best choice. She's shaved off half a dozen panic attacks during the three hour flight and made Friday take control of most of the suit as time passed. It could be faster, the suit could get there under an hour, but Pepper has used the suit under a dozen times (most of which were just when Tony was teaching her) and she doesn't understand how Tony can work in these without feeling stuck, cramped, and panicky. To her, it's a working nightmare.

But she _has_ to do this.

Even if it makes her slightly sick.

Needless to say, when the suit finally lands somewhere after eight in the night Pepper gives a long sigh of relief and rips the helmet off of her head, taking in the fresh air with gasping breaths. Air.

Ground.

 _Air._

Pepper probably could have found a different way to get the ridiculously remote area in Wyoming, but refused to do it so she could get more acquainted with the Iron Man suit. Yeah, Tony showed her how to use it, but that doesn't mean she's _used_ it in a battle before. Except with the Extremis and—

Let's not think about that.

Pepper purses her lips together and shakes her head slightly, her bangs sliding in front of her eyes before she stuffs them behind their pin again.

The building she's looking at from her hidden position some one hundred feet away looks like a army military base. Easily overlookable and it's appearance holds is one that no one should tamper with it. The "U.S. ARMY—PRIVATE PROPERTY" is throwing her.

Pepper's almost doubting that it's the right building.

This _is_ where Karen sent the signal from, right?

"Friday," Pepper asks, slightly breathlessly as her eyes scan past the building looking for her teammates. Vision and Rhodey were flying in with Bruce. "This is the right building, right?"

Friday is quiet a moment: "Yes, Miss, I am detecting Tony and Peter's body signatures."

Pepper exhales in relief and bites her tongue for a second, "Can you tell if they're alive or…?"

Friday hesitates, then: "Mr. Stark's heart rate is dangerously low and erratic, Peter's is highly elevated; he is likely in pain."

Her lips thin.

Pain?

Erratic?

What happened?

She's saved by a response as she hears footsteps behind her. Pepper turns as Vision, Bruce, and Rhodey take steps forward through the trees. Bruce's lips are drawn into a tight line and Pepper can see the faint outline of a bruise from where she hit him. Admittedly, she feels guilty, but her response was _tame_ compared to Rhodey. He yelled, and he yelled _voluminously._ Vision just stood there with a slight aura of disappointment and Bruce had cowered under them looking deeply regretful, but didn't offer any excuses. Apparently Bruce had been hiding out in India since he woke up from Hulk six months ago and had caught up with the recent events through newspapers. He didn't hear about the Avengers civil war until it was long over and wasn't sure if it was a good time to approach Tony for fear of the U.N., after Tony was framed, though he booked a flight and searched the city restlessly for them finally giving up and just hung out at the S.I. buildings looking for Pepper or Happy. Both of whom had dropped off the planet for the last week until this morning.

"This is it?" Vision asks staring at the base, face as blank as ever.

Pepper nods and bites her lip momentarily for another moment, "Yeah, Friday says she can read their signatures from here."

"I can read Tony's, however I am still unfamiliar with Mr. Parker." Vision admits.

Pepper nods, again. "I didn't assume you would be. The other Avengers should be here in the next ten minutes or so." Pepper says and all of them whirl around in surprise her body tensing preparing to throw the helmet in her shock as a voice speaks: "Actually, we were waiting on you."

Clint fingers the end of an arrow carelessly and gives a small eyebrow raise from where he's leaning against a tree. The area around them is mostly tall grasses with maybe a dozen trees total. It's perfect cover if you aren't _looking_ for someone.

Clint sweeps his gaze over them and his eyebrows raise in surprise as he sees Bruce. Instead of shouting, or yelling, or even hitting him like Pepper half expects (and the way that Bruce's body has tensed, he does to), Clint sighs a little. "Hey,"

Bruce flicks his gaze to his feet and doesn't offer a response. Strapped over one shoulder Pepper can see the outline of Clint's bow clearly and he's dressed in dark colors that make him blend in easily.

Now that Pepper's staring at the surrounding land, she can see the outline of the others blending in easily with the scenery. They take several steps forward into the semi-light of the stars and moon shadowing their faces. Wanda's hair is tugged back into a ponytail and a small figure is standing on her shoulder, probably Ant-Man. Natasha and Bucky slip down from the tree Clint was leaning against and a moment later Steve and Sam walk out of taller grasses dressed in the suits that they dropped off the radar with. Steve's hair is a little longer than Pepper remembers and as she sees him she moves a hand back to the shield she strapped on before she left. It had been a last minute decision when she snagged it from Tony's workshop.

The tension between the two of the teams is tense and slightly awkward at best. Natasha's eyebrows shoot up, like Clint's, as she spots Bruce, but she makes no vocal statement. They seem to be staring each other down and the distrust makes Pepper want to groan and smack her head against something. Releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding Pepper strides forward Iron Man suit clanking against the ground in stiff movements and holds out the shield to Steve.

His blue eyes jump from it to her in surprise and she gives a small nod, encouraging him to take it. "I believe this is yours, Captain." She says softly.

Steve stares at it for another moment before taking it gently, as if it's made of porcelain. The sight looks familiar on him and he gives a small jerk of his head in thanks. Rhodey takes a step forward, and though he holds a fire in his eyes and will probably do some shouting later, he remains quiet and instead of the accusing finger Pepper slightly expects him to have he smirks slightly, "What's the plan, Cap?"

"We were talking as we flew here and Bucky says that if we blow the main reactor we have about fifteen minutes before the whole building goes. With the panic being set off we can sneak in and grab Tony and Parker"

Pepper's eyebrows meet together in confusion. "Shouldn't the generator blow the moment you hit it?"

"No," Bucky (or who she _assumes_ is Bucky) answers and she turns to him. Beyond in some black and white videos, she hasn't ever heard him talk. His voice is a little quieter than she imagined it would be in real life. "HYRDA installed a failsafe so they had time to get as much out as possible. I don't know exactly how it works only that it does." Bucky answers and Pepper nods, slightly curious on how he learned that, but doesn't ask.

"If you four can cause a distraction—I wasn't planning on the Hulk being present, but that should rattle them a little—Clint, Scott, and Sam can set the charges and blow the generator as Bucky, I, Wanda, and Nat recuse Tony and Peter."

Pepper nods. It makes sense, she, Vision and Rhodey are the only ones who will be able to dodge their outward defenses and Hulk is...Hulk. Everyone else is generally skilled in the area that Steve wants them in.

"That sound okay?" Steve asks, his voice is slightly hesitant and Pepper nods to reassure him.

"It sounds like it should work. But if we can't get Peter and Tony out before the generator blows, what will happen?" Pepper asks. She has her doubts that it's anything differently that she's thinking.

Steve gives a tight smile,

"Nothing good." Clint offers, slightly dryly, but Pepper can tell he's serious.

"We don't have much time," Pepper says and grabs the helmet, pulling it over her head and the blue light streams through everything digitally as Friday re-scans their surroundings. How Tony manages to process everything so quickly is amazing to her. "Do we have a signal to start?"

The Avengers share a look and Bruce eyebrows meet and he looks slightly panicked, like he forgot something. No one answers and Pepper starts the thrusters on the Iron Man suit, ""Go" work with you guys?"

Steve laughs, slightly muffled from her helmet before pressing his ear, the others doing the same and she hears a slight hissing sound for a second before it clears as the earpieces tap into her frequency.

Steve shakes his head a little, "That sounds find." He agrees and breaks into a run, the others following after him. Rhodey starts his thrusters and Vision rises.

Pepper jumps into the air, bracing herself for the fight.

000o000

"See, I told you," Claree says, if not a little smugly behind a man, her hands crossed behind her back staring at the screens he's watching. The one his gaze is locked to is the cell that Claree can see Tony lying, pathetically, twitching on the ground of. "Poison works like a charm every time."

The man grunts and Claree raises an eyebrow at the lack of words, "No comment, then?"

He remains silent.

Claree sighs, "Disappointing. I suppose I'll drag his body from the cell in a few minutes so Peter can watch him die—or the other way around, I haven't decided yet." She twirls a long strand of blonde hair around her finger, her face twisting in surprise as someone shouts loudly to her left and Claree turns her body towards the sound before a blast rockets the building.

Claree lets out a yelp and tumbles to the side grasping at the upper rim of a chair as alarms star whirring through the building. She snaps her gaze towards the moderators, "What _was_ that!?" She demands raising her voice over the whirring alarm.

The man who yelled the first time picks himself up from off the ground, his eyes wide with shock, "The...the.." He stutters and Claree's face swivels to annoyance.

" _The what!?"_

" _Hulk."_ The man breathes and Claree feels her face pale slightly and she staggers to the moderators managing to keep most of her balance intact as another hit shakes the building. She grasps the edge of the desk and stares at the screens managing to see a glance of the giant green rage monster before he ruthlessly rips the camera from the wall. She jerks back despite herself her eyes wide.

Claree hisses under her breath and whirls her head to the right as the sound of another impact hits the wall. She scrambles her gaze across the screens before spotting the sight of a gold, silver and red suit whirring past her staring at the camera for a moment before blasting it apart with a white explosion.

"The Avengers are here." Another woman states her eyes wide. Hulk punches something else and Claree's fingers tighten around the keyboard. It doesn't matter, she reassures herself, she won, Stark is as good as dead and the Spider-Man well on his way there.

Claree turns to them, "Then stop lying there like bumbling idiots and grab a gun!" She shouts pulling a pistol from her pocket, "Get out of the building, you fools, _get out!"_

She grabs the nearest man and pulls him to his feet shoving him forward towards the door and turns back to the white haired man struggling to his feet face twisted in rage. "I _told_ you they would be here and you know what you said, " _Don't worry, the Avengers are long beyond teammates anymore."!"_ She echoes his voice in a snarky high-pitched voice angrily.

A deep rattle shakes the ground beneath their feet and Claree feels any remaining color drain from her face. Everyone remaining in the room pauses, save the receiver of her sharp words whose face cracks into a sickly twisted smirk. "They blew the reactor." Claree breathes and she raises her hand in no pointed direction, "Does _that_ push in your dull head, General Ross!?"

Ross gets to his feet as the rest of the room makes a break for the exit the fifteen minute mark clicking downwards. Claree runs a hand through her hair, "So many years of _work_ and planning! _How_ did they find us!? I disabled that blasted A.I.!" Claree hisses.

"Yes, you did." Ross agrees and grins a moment later, "But _I_ didn't."

Claree raises her gun towards him her eyes narrowing realization sparking in her eyes, " _You…"_ She pauses for a moment, "you leaked the information to them. _You_ turned it back on. _Why!?_ I was perfectly happy killing Stark and you blew it!"

"No, this is _my_ chance to remove _all_ of them. You were a helpful assistant, your work with computer impressive." Ross raises a gun Claree didn't see in a swift movement that she barely catches before he fires.

000o000

The moment that the door with Bucky's metal fist imprinted on it smashes into the room with a thick screech of metal and a crash, Natasha knows that this isn't going to be pleasant. The assurance of this statement increases as she barrels into the room guns raised, ready for a fight and isn't met with one.

Only cocky idiots leave their prisoners alone.

Or they leave them dead.

Admittedly, Natasha expects a metal table with some form of medieval torture devices and Stark's kid to be strapped down screaming or something. Instead, as she steps into the room, all she sees is more than a dozen of empty shot containers carefully lined on a wooden table with more than twenty lying ready. Most of them are filled with clear liquid, but some are blue and one is a faint green.

She turns her head slowly, looking across the length of the room and see's Stark's kid strapped down to a chair with at least three pairs of handcuffs keeping his hands attached to the table, his chest wrapped in more gauze than is comforting.

His dark hair is tangled, slick with sweat, and his head is slumped.

Unconscious.

There's so much _blood._

Natasha isn't a stranger to injuries, but this is _gruesome._ What happened?

Wanda inhales sharply behind her, and it breaks Natasha back to reality. Suddenly everything is real again. The smell of the medicine is stark and painful and she can _smell_ the blood from her position several feet away from the kid.

He needs medical.

Now.

She makes a move to free him, but Bucky beats her to it. Without bothering to pick the cuffs like she would have, he simply crushes the cuffs with his metal hand, gently pulling Peter's wrists through the chains.

Natasha moves forward to take his weight as he slumps forward, and he releases a quiet groan.

He twitches beneath her touch.

He's still awake.

Natasha's stomach churns uncomfortable and she flicks her gaze back towards Wanda. If _Peter,_ who was not even the goal of this woman's mission is this bad, how much worse is Tony?

Natasha grips him a little tighter and a small mumble escapes the teen's throat. Wanda moves forward and presses a hand against Peter's left temple, her fingers glowing a dull red. "You are safe now." She whispers softly. In the midst of the rage of the warning lights and the ringing of repulsors and the building slowing being torn apart, Natasha almost misses it. Peter's eyes flutter slightly at her voice, but he thankfully doesn't wake.

Wanda murmurs something in her mother-tongue before moving her fingers towards her mouth as if drawing something from it then flicks her finger towards his forehead. The red light spreads towards him like wispy ink and touches his skin, almost hesitantly. Peter slumps forward completely and his weight slumps against her fully.

"What did you do?" Natasha asks curiously glancing at her nineteen-year-old teammate as she slowly adjusts her hold on Peter. The bleeding wounds on his chest don't look any better and she honestly can't decide how best to get him out without injuring him further.

Wanda sits up, her lips pressed together in a tight line, "I persuaded him into sleep."

After a few more seconds Natasha decides to hold him bridal style and Peter's head rolls towards her chest, looking pained even in his sleep. Bucky spins a gun his expression dark as he volunteers, "I'll clear a path."

000o000

" _Black Widow report: my team is out, we have Asset Silk-Spinner, he's unconscious. I'm moving to disengage the Hulk. You've gotta get out of there, Cap, nine minutes."_

" _Can't, I haven't found Iron Man yet."_

Steve mentally counts down the time he has left, growing more panicked. Natasha's total number of minutes isn't helping and no matter how hard Steve tries he still doesn't have any idea where Tony is or his situation. All the guards he's come across have either been unconscious from the blast or painfully and purposefully unhelpful.

" _This is Hawkeye, my team's out. Seven minutes, Cap."_

Steve rips open another door and glances inside, seeing nothing for the umpteeth time; everything for the last few blocks has looked the same and as time has gone on with no changes Steve can't help but admit a little bit of rousing panic. The time limit isn't helping, neither is the fact that Steve is ripping apart the cell block apart trying to find some sign that Tony is here.

Nothing.

Nothing.

And _nothing._

" _War Machine, we've rounded up everyone who's left the building. You won't believe who we caught. Six minutes, Cap."_

Steve grits his teeth to withhold his frustrated cry of " _I KNOW!",_ and instead exhales through his nose as slow as possible. He knows that his team is trying to be of assistance, but the building pressure and the realization that they might actually fail isn't suiting well with him. There's five minutes left, and over ten doors. It takes Steve about fifteen seconds to search and entire cell and they still need time to find a window or something…

"Tony!" Steve shouts for the umpteeth time in the last thirteen minutes. " _Tony!"_

He waits for a moment and and receives...silence.

Steve pulls another door open to come back empty handed. _Where is he!?_ Steve shoves the key card he stole from a guard he fought some six minutes ago into another door not expecting it to be just as empty as the last few and rips it open only to stumble backwards in surprise as a frail, pale body collapses at his feet from where it was leaning against said door. Steve feels the color drain from his face as he recognizes the erratic hair and hoodie.

Oh...oh gosh, _finally!_

Now all they have to do is get out of here before the building blows.

"Tony!" Steve shouts in relief and surprise, "We gotta go—Clint blew the generator of the building but the Avengers are waiting outside, we have your son, Tony and Nat said that he's not doing so g—Tony?" Steve's eyebrows meet in confusion as he receives no quip, no snark, no yelling, no _nothing,_ Tony is utterly still. Like a dead man.

Steve's eyes widen as he sees that he can't tell if Tony's breathing.

A weight drops to his stomach and settles there.

No.

Not now.

Steve's stomach sinks and he presses his pointer and middle finger against his ear, accessing the comm. His tongue feels dry against this throat, but nothing can quite explain the terror that's settled into his toes. Not Tony. _Not Tony._ The words build up on his tongue, but all he reports—all he _can_ is, "I found Stark."

He pulls his hand back and switches it off so Pepper can't interrogate him or anyone else and if Tony is dead, Steve doesn't have to tell them now.

Steve's breath catches and he collapses to his knees and grabs Tony's too cold shoulder, flipping him onto his back, "Stark!" He shouts, trying and failing to keep himself from fully panicking. This is _his_ team and he's failed them. He failed Tony, again. He failed his team.

 _Tony is dead._

 _Tony is dead and it's his fault._

 _He wasn't fast enough._

And now? When it _really_ counts, Steve failed.

Steve's breathing isn't coming out right, but he couldn't care less. He rips Tony's hood away from his neck and presses his fingers against the cold skin, silently begging to all that is good in this world to not have taken Tony yet.

Steve waits for an agonized second.

... _Thump...thump…_

 _...thump..._

The heartbeats are sluggish and far apart enough to be alarming, but Tony is still _alive._ Steve exhales in relief and moves to take his hand back startled more than he cares to admit when Tony's cold fingers wrap around his wrist. Tony's glazed hazel eyes look up at him and a rattled wheeze escapes his lips before Tony rallies into a series of coughs.

"Tony," Steve says, and Tony's gaze flickers to him looking slightly startled.

"Am I dead?" Tony asks the question softly and Steve tries to quell the panic pulsing through him.

"N-no."

"Oh," Tony says, his voice still quiet, "I'm dreaming, right? You're not _really_ here?"

Steve shakes his head, "No, I'm here, Tony, I'm really here."

Tony hums thoughtfully in answer, but his eyes are still glazed, "Peter? You found...him," Tony pauses to hiss out a cough that sounds physically painful, "right?"

"What's wrong?" Steve asks ignoring the question, alarmed. Tony doesn't _look_ injured. It's not internal bleeding, is it?

Tony gives a weak smile, "My heart gave up on me, I'm a dead man."

Steve shakes his head violently in disagreement. _Stop insisting you're dead!_ "You're alive and we've gotta move, the buildings about to blow up. Can you walk?" Steve mentally kicks himself. _Look at him, Rogers!_ Do you _think_ he can walk? No, absolutely not, Tony looks like he'd struggle to twitch a pinky. Tony lets out a moan in answer and his free hand moves to grasp his rumpled hoodie as a shudder races through him followed by a faint hiss.

"I'm so tired." Tony admits quietly and Steve glances around as the building gives another groan and he feels the walls strain. Hulk's consistent pounding didn't help the structure, but apparently Natasha got him to calm down enough because Steve can't feel the shaking of his punches anymore. Without a second thought and years of training pounded into his brain, Steve struggles from Tony's surprisingly tight grip and picks the multi-billionaire up bridal style, turning hopelessly to find the nearest exit.

Less than a minute.

"I know," Steve says absently, "but you've gotta stay awake or you might not wake up, okay?" Steve presses and Tony groans in pain and clutches at the hoodie again which Steve realizes is above his heart.

' _My heart gave up on me.'_

"Steve," he coughs and Steve stops, turning back to him as he bites his inner lip, remaining quiet. Tony's eyes are slipping closer and closer to being shut, "I'm...sorry."

What? _For_ what? Tony didn't do anything _wrong._ The fight between them was because of _Steve_ not Tony. Steve withheld the information in hopes he could explain it better to Tony, but when was there a good time? Didn't Thor's situation with his family teach them nothing? _Withheld_ information takes more than it gives and it _takes hard._

"Me too." Steve admits quietly.

"Please make it stop," Tony pleads. His voice is desperate and it stings _._ Steve can't, he doesn't know how, they need a doctor. for whatever it is that's killing Tony. He doesn't know how to help with this.

Steve turns to the end of the hall and mentally braces himself before kicking the shield he dropped on the ground when he grabbed Tony into his hand, the familiar weight comforting. Steve races forward and ducks his head under the shield before pushing his full weight against the wall at the end of the hall. It shatters easily with a roar of broken wood and concrete before they both go tumbling to the ground in a roll. The grass is rough, and the dirt harder.

The building explodes a little under ten seconds later, the heat of the blast smacking against Steve heavily. He ducks, covering himself and Tony with the shield as best he can. He covers his face from the bright light then waits for a minute to let the worst past.

Steve swears sixty seconds have never passed slower.

He shoves himself into a sitting position, throwing his shield to the side. Tony is curled around his stomach, twitching. Steve shoves him to his back, panic thumping through him. It's painful.

Tony give a faint rattle for breath. Steve can see his team thirty feet away, advancing towards them in a run, Wanda's red light streaming as a protective bubble of himself and Tony but every breath is getting weaker and Steve realizes, mournfully, they aren't going to make it in time.

"Tony! Don't close your eyes!" Steve commands, "Pepper needs you to keep them open, and your kid!" Steve says trying to think of anything to keep the man grounded. "The Avengers, the world, please, please!" Steve pleads adding on the last part in desperation, but Tony seems dead to the world staring upwards the burns on his face not seeming to bother him.

Steve hears the distinct sound of the Iron Man suit landing and seconds later Pepper scrambles out, "Tony!" She gasps and races to his side grabbing his hand and looking at Steve. Her gaze is panicked.

"Pep…" Tony says not seeming to have the energy to say the rest of her name. His face twists with agony again and he blinks at her slowly his breathing picking up speed, "Pete...he's-he's—?"

"Fine, "Pepper says, her voice filled with helpless tears. Steve can tell she's lying. Steve can tell that _Tony_ can tell she's lying, but he pretends to be satisfied with the answer. Tony turns his head sluggishly to Steve, and for the first time since Steve shoved the shield into Tony's arc reactor, they make eye contact. Tony gives a thin smile and his eyes glaze with pain for a second again. Tony gives a strangled gasp then, that somehow sounds like a relieved sigh before he brings Pepper's hand up for a weak kiss, his and her hand falling against his chest afterwards and closes his eyes murmuring: "Then I didn't waste it."

Tony inhales once, and doesn't exhale.

His strangled gasps stop and Pepper lets out a choked inhale before she blinks rapidly, "Tony! _Tony!_ No, no, no, no! This isn't funny, stop it! For the love of—OPEN YOUR EYES! Don't leave me, okay! It's going to be okay and—"

Pepper starts to ramble off assurances as the rest of the team makes it. Wanda looks pained her eyes wide with hurt and a hand pressed against her mouth, the other Avengers just look frozen. Steve can't make his muscles move, but everything feels like a blur. _If he had been faster, if he had managed to get there sooner or hadn't let his guilt swim in the way of everything so he went by himself, Tony would have been found sooner if—_

Natasha pulls a sobbing Pepper backwards into a restricting hug and Bruce in a pair of too big doctor's clothing (who Steve distantly notes has longer hair than he remembers and looks far sicker up close) with a medical team shouts something before a stretcher appears suddenly and Tony is carried off in a rushed hurry of people and medical sirens. Steve doesn't remember calling any. Maybe Bruce did. Who knows?

Steve can only feel the numbness of failure pressing down on him. He staggers to his feet, the world without sound or feeling. The fire behind him is roaring towards the stars and the ambulances are quickly disappearing into the distance.

Steve doesn't know how much times passes as he just stands, his limbs not working, the fire burning happily behind him with blistering heat that he can hardly feel anymore.

Tony is—

He—

 _Tony is—_

"Steve," Bucky says behind him, his voice soft. The sound of his voice drags Steve from his soundless shell and he exhales sharply before tilting his head in answer. "Pepper, Wanda, and Clint went to the hospital with the ambulances, Natasha wants you to tell us what we need to do with their boss."

Steve blinks sluggishly and then clears his throat trying to ground himself to reality. Steve grits his teeth together before forcing himself to focus. _They will be fine. Focus, Steven._

"Do you know him?" Steve asks.

He doesn't see it, but imagines Bucky shake his head, "Not well."

He has to deal with whoever they apprehended, and _then_ he can go punch everything in a gym to shambles. Steve takes several steps forward and feels Bucky step into side with him. Steve strides the distance between the burning building behind him to T'challa's plane parked with over a dozen police cars surrounding it. The red and blue lights are flashing widely and police wandering everywhere. Natasha looks to be in deep discussion with the head chief and Rhodey and Sam are speaking with a few others.

Scott are is standing beside the prisoners looking strangely furious, and Vision is pacing in front of them, looking...antsy. The emotion is weird to label on him, but it fits nonetheless. Steve forces his expression to compose, calm, and then harden. He strides towards the silhouetted figures the dim lighting. The fire in the distance is the only real source of light.

Steve comes to a halt and really can't help it when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. There's over two maybe three dozen and men that Steve doesn't recognize, but standing in the front looking as though he has _no right_ to be there is General Ross. Ms. Tren, Steve notes in the back of his head, is absent from the collected group. Maybe she was still in the building when it blew. Hopefully.

The man's graying hair is sticking up in odd angles and burnt on his left side, he's favoring his right leg, but as soon as his eyes lock onto Bucky and Steve in front of him, a self righteous sneer spreads on his thin lips. "Ah, Captain Rogers, dragged himself up from the dead, I see."

Steve doesn't take the bait. Steve keeps his expression neutral and folds his arms across his chest staring at the man for a moment, "Not my first time."

General Ross huffs and his mouth spreads into a deranged grin, "Glad you're here; when the police arrest you, I'll make sure that the government signs your execution this time. I'll prove to the world that the Avenger's are nothing more than a team of dangerous _freaks_ hoping they can redeem themselves through death. You took the bait so easily, Rogers, you dragged your whole team to the party and, well, that's just swell. I knew you would, Tony's always been your weak link. It was so _easy_ to completely destroy him, I would do it again and again just because I _could._ The moron ruined my prison, the raft was perfect and he just sat there like the lazy, flashing smiles, heartless jerk that he is—"

Steve has always prided himself for being able to keep his cool when someone insults him. He's known for it, but right now when Ross is probably more than aware that Tony is dead or—

Stop.

 _Stop._

Even though he _should_ be feeling furious anger for his teammate that clouds his vision (and he _is)_ Steve's emotions don't really catch up with him. Not until his fist collides with Ross's nose the facial feature giving a sickening _crack_ as the force of the blow sends the man tumbling to the ground in a crumpled heap, unconscious.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! =) You're all amazing! You're comments have been livening! Thank you! =)**

 **Updated April 15th, 2019.**

* * *

Chapter Eleven:

Natasha, Pepper has decided after a less than a minute of watching her, was born to be politician. After putting Tony and Peter in the nearest hospital in Wyoming, Natasha had called the president of the U.S. ( _how_ she got his number is beyond Pepper) and demanded a U.N. meeting on Tony's innocence and pardons for herself and the other Avengers.

Less than a day later and more than seventy percent of them participating via internet, Natasha got her demanded meeting. The press had been _everywhere_ so Pepper watched through the T.V. of the Peter's hospital room as Tony underwent surgery. The ex-assassin had strolled into the White House, armed to the teeth yet hiding everything fairly well. Her blonde hair had been tucked under a hat and taken her seat, calmly despite the erupting chaos around her.

When no one had shut up after she asked them to, Natasha had ripped a gun from her belt and fired three times at the ceiling. Dead silence had followed which the assassin had smiled to before she laid a flash drive down on the table with a slam expression hard, " _This is the virus found in Iron Man's systems."_ She had stated coldly almost daring anyone to agree with her, " _I know we are not on the public's best eye right now, but I can assure you that Tony didn't send the weapons out. This,"_ She had pulled out a single sheet of paper that she had somehow managed to keep hidden in her brown jacket and placed them neatly beside the flash drive, " _is a printed report of every weapon Stark Industries has sent out in the last eight years since Tony shut down the main faculty. As you can see, it is blank."_

When she said this, everyone had erupted into questions and demands for answers most claiming her to be lying. Natasha had raised an eyebrow to them and spoken swift and easy answers without a hint of a lie in them. She had led them onward easily, explaining about the situation with Claree simply stating Tony had been captured and was in hiding now, in a location only the Avengers knew, and revealed the true villain behind all of this: General Ross.

The U.S.'s president had shot his eyebrows upwards, startled, then demanded why she thought so. Natasha, wisely had dragged the police Pepper had distantly remembered her talking to with her from Wyoming who confirmed bother her story and Ross's involvement.

( _Ross, who did not deny shooting Claree Tren in the head. Murder confession. A_ murder confession).

This had set discomfort through the U.N. and the questions became more viscous. Natasha had answered to the best of her ability and before disappearing among the crowd had stated: " _It's not that we don't agree with the Sokovia Accords, but the easy way it can become corrupted makes us nervous. Me and Cap have seen how easily lies can be slipped through an agency that knows everything. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse is evidence on this, knowing and controlling everyone's actions only brings power—not safety. The Accords shouldn't be a violation of human rights. If you don't want us to help you every time, make it something like a passport. We may not always make the right call, I'll admit that, but we can't save everyone. We try; we try till we're exhausted and stiff to the point we can't move and we will keep trying until our last rattle of breath but we can't do that sitting in a cell rotting. I leave you with this question: If the man who created the Accords is a traitor, can you really trust them?"_

Government's erupted into chaos.

The news exploded.

Government officials took the data chip and tested it before re-hacking into SI and comparing the two for hours on end until they decided Natasha's chip was indeed real and the weapons malfunction was fake. Tony was pardoned a mere twenty six hours after the conference.

Thirty six hours after the conference, General Ross was tried and found guilty of not only being involved with the creation of the Hulk, murder of Claree Tren, kidnapping, and everything else in Natasha's story and given a life sentence in prison. His deeply bruised, crooked nose with a white bandage slapped on it didn't seem to matter to the older man. His smug, sneering expression had been satisfying to watch fall even if from a distance on the small screen as she panicked about her son and husband.

The Sokovian Accords became the only thing being talked about everywhere. It was all over the internet and T.V. as people started to question _why_ it is exactly that the government couldn't just give the Avenger's guidelines for their country and instead had to have full power. A "passport" as Natasha dubbed it.

The government itself became conflicted.

The U.N. had demanded a meeting with Steve who, after some persuasion, went with Bucky to New York arriving with just as much dramatics as Natasha did and had been relentlessly questioned on his actions. Steve had answered as honestly as he could, explained about the other winter soldier's and any other questions they had.

As they were there, Bucky was put on a full trial and declared innocent of what he did and under mind control that was swept free through Wanda.

Six days after the initial rescue, Tony and Peter were declared strong enough for a transfer across country to the Avenger's HQ and Pepper had agreed without a second thought. Stark Industries has better medical equipment than Wyoming does, their chances of survival increased that way.

Tony had woken up somewhere on the seventh day, demanded to know if he was a janitor before passing out without receiving an answer again. Peter remained stubbornly unconscious the bullet wounds making quick work of his health even with his enhanced healing and after an initial exam had been given and Peter had been changed to the hospital's ugly attire, revealing faint bruises around his neck.

Natasha had to physically hold her back from flying to the prison and breaking Ross's nose, again. Steve had dislocated it and the severity promised that it would never heal quite right.

Happy had shown up somewhere close to day eight, demanded an update on his two charges talked briefly with the rest of the Avengers, raised an eyebrow at Bruce before plopping himself down next to Pepper and remaining at her side for hours on end.

Pepper couldn't remember the last time she ate anything but coffee, slept or changed her clothing. It's getting disastrous. At the end of day eight, Tony had woken up again, still not fully conscious, asked for Peter's state and lemon juice before slipping asleep again. Happy had sent her home telling her not to return until she'd slept, changed her clothes and eaten real food.

On day eleven, the U.S. government, moving faster than anything Pepper had seen in her life, declared that they thought the Sokovia Accords faulty and instead gave the Avengers a small list of requirements of what they needed to do in order to work in the U.S.. The "Passport" that Natasha requested. The Avengers agree.

On day twelve, the Avengers were given full pardons from the U.N. presenting the paper's to Natasha with the statement that, " _Captain America was only trying to bring truth into our sights. The Accords to their extent are not longer followed by any country after the small African country, Wakanda dropped it, others quickly following."_

Natasha had nodded, smiled, and taken the papers offered a few words of thanks and disappeared off the stage returning just in time for Tony to wake up again in semi consciousness, demand a glass of water and pass out again.

The medics assured them it was a good sign.

Pepper wasn't so sure.

000o000

Talking.

Crying.

Whispers.

Lonely.

Helpless.

It's painful.

It's loud.

It's _bright._

His senses are sluggish, yet somehow still on overdrive and everything sounds like his ears are filled with cotton. His eyelids are heavy and every muscle feels like it weighs as much as the Empire State Building. Maybe it does. Is he crushed again? No. Oh, _no, no, no._

He scrambles to pull up memories of what happened and his mind draws blank. He can't remember. Why can't he remember? Is his brain broken? Did his skull get crushed? What's wrong with him!? He's not dying is he? Nothing is coming!

What is—

This—

It—

Peter.

Parker.

His name is Peter Parker. He and Tony were captured by Claree and it—the guns. There were guns and he jumped in front of Tony because that and—there's nothing else but ripples of pain. His memories are fuzzy and everything he _can_ remember feels hazy through the pain and sedatives pumped through his systems. The rescue feels the blurriest, (probably the rescue?) There was screeching metal, a hand on his shoulder, silence and darkness for the first in _days_ and a red haze and a redheaded woman whispers to him softly before everything draws blank again.

Black Widow.

 _Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, and the Winter Soldier rescued him._

 _How? Why? What..?_

They were missing, all of them dropped off the face of the planet. No one could find them, not Tony, not the government, _no one._ Why would they rescue him? He's just the bait—Tony!

Oh, gosh, _Tony._

Is he okay? Please let him still be alive. After everything that happened it's not fair for the universe to take him. He has to be okay, right? Peter _needs_ to know, his muscles are so heavy, though, and he's _exhausted._

Peter battles himself. After some effort, he wins the war with his eyelids through a small struggle and after the second wave passes, he manages to pull them apart. The bright light makes him groan and he squeezes them shut again curling his hands into fists at the pain trying to downplay the panic. Why is it so bright, can't it tone down some? Are they coming back because Peter can't—

 _Breathe._

Pathetic, he can't stand the dark and—

He's cold.

Freezing—

Finger's wrap around his clenched fist and Peter tenses, his senses whirling upwards in panicked hazes, his spider-sense dulling in the back of his head like an annoying alarm. He fights off the panic attack that threatens to succumb him before struggling to pull his eyes open again. Who is touching him? Their grip is gently tight as if they don't want to let go or he'll disappear if they do.

Pulsing, aching, _why won't they flipping open!?_

"Shh, Peter, it's okay." The female voice is soft and soothing and Peter grabs onto it mentally as an anchor. It's familiar, he knows them. This isn't _that_ room with her sharp voice and laughing mockery. It's alright, he's safe, though he can't place the voice he knows that with it there, he's safe. The gentle hand runs fingers through his sweaty bangs, "You're safe now."

"M-May?" He mumbles through dry lips, they feel chapped and he knows their split down the middle because he can taste the blood. His throat could make the Sahara jealous. Maybe it already is, because it is not a challenge. His aunt is here, right? That's who the woman is. Everything is okay, she's safe. Is Tony? Is Pepper? He needs to know but the answers just _aren't coming._

A very soft, yet somehow sad sigh comes on his left side where the hand is over his knuckle and the fingers tracing through his hair come to a halt before the hand pulls away. The fingers around his knuckles tighten ever so slightly, "Yeah, sweetheart."

Peter's body slumps with relief.

She's here.

She's safe.

He thought that the hospital, and—

Peter pulls his eyes apart again and winces some, then turns his gaze towards the brunette. May's face is tired, her eyes heavy with dark shadows, but she gives him a small smile as she sees him. She runs a hand through his messy hair, "Hey, Pete," she says quietly.

Peter squints with confusion, "I don't…" He trails.

Understand.

He's confused.

The room is white and making everything so much brighter. He has an IV in his arm and it's uncomfortable, but it gives him reassurance on where he is. The hospital. Medical. With May.

Where is Tony? Why is he in a hospital? Where are the other Avengers? Is the government here? Did they get Claree? Where is Pepper?

He blinks several times trying to get his eyes adjusted before he opens his dry mouth again, "I don't…" he trails, then swallows along his dry throat, biting back a shiver, "where am I?"

May gives his hand a squeeze, "Avengers Tower."

His eyes widen.

"You got hurt pretty bad," May says quietly, "you've been in a coma for the last thirteen days."

 _What!?_

Peter attempts to sit up, but a sharp pain flares through his ribs and he finds that it's impossible. He gasps and May shoves him back down gently, "Hey, _hey,_ honey, let's not do that," she says and turns away from him, eyes rapidly searching the room.

Peter does a quick assessment.

There's a few empty chairs lined in various positions in the room, but all are empty. He can see people moving outside the jaded window of the door. Hospital. He hates hospitals. The last time he really interacted with doctors was after Uncle Ben was shot.

And—nope.

Not thinking about that.

"Here, Pete," May says and Peter drags his attention away from the door to her as she holds up a glass of water to him. Peter takes it from her hands with shaking ones though she doesn't release it and lifts it to his lips. The cool liquid has never felt more amazing. Peter downs the rest of the glass and May pulls it away and sets it on the table it giving a dull _clunk_ that Peter flinches at again. The voices outside are so loud, everything _is._ Peter just wants _silence._ If May noticed his flinch, she doesn't comment just grabs his knuckle with both hands this time.

Peter licks his split lips, "Where's...Tony? Pepper?" He questions.

May looks like she's chewing on her inner lip, "Pepper's with Tony. He...Ms. Tren messed up his...they had to do a heart transplant."

Peter's spine goes rigid and he bolts upright, a thrum of panic spinning through him. " _What!?"_

"Peter—"

"Is he okay!? Oh my gosh!" Peter hisses.

Tony is—

Tony might be—

 _A heart transplant!?_ Peter squeezes his eyes shut and his breathing picks up. His mind is spinning. "No," He murmurs because what else can he say? He did _nothing._ Useless, _again_. This is _just like Ben all over again and he can't—_

"He's fine, Pete, breathe, it's okay, alright, hey, _hey,_ " May says and Peter fills a sob build up in his throat before May moves away from the chair and leans over the bed gathering him into her arms. She holds him close to her chest as the gates break and sobs erupted from his throat tears leaking from his eyes.

"He's fine," May repeats, "it went over well, his body accepted the donor and everything's fine. His heart couldn't take the strain after the arc reactor and they needed to do it. It's fine, Pete, just keep breathing."

 _Not dead._

 _He's not dead._

 _So why can't he stop crying?_

May traces circles against his back and murmurs something into his hair that he doesn't understand. He's still gasping and he _can't stop_ because everything just _aches._

Peter rips his head away from May's shoulder as the door is thrown open and a dark haired man he's pretty sure is the Winter Soldier followed by Happy throw themselves into the room the Winter Soldier armed with a pistol and a long knife and Happy has a gun aimed at nothing.

May pulls Peter closer to her in surprise her grip tightening before she gives a shaky laugh. Happy scans the room his eyes sweeping over everything before resting on May and Peter. He lowers his gun and his face twists in sympathy.

"Finally decided to join us again, kid?" Happy questions. Peter hasn't seen him since sometime last month when Tony had wanted Peter to drop by the tower (which he decided not to sell) to work on the suit. Happy looks a little more ragged and—are those sweatpants? Seriously. What _time_ is it? Happy's deep purple shirt with a jacket thrown on it what looks like a hurry don't fit his grey sweatpants in the slightest.

The Winter Soldier looks a little more alive, but is still only just. He's wearing a T-shirt with the some sort of stupid science pun he doesn't get or attempt to with jeans his long hair pulled back. They looked much more intimidating when they threw themselves into the room like he and May were being eaten by a giant worm or in peril. Now that he's actually looking at them...less frightening, more tired, human.

"Yeah," May says softly when Peter can't. His chest is frozen with shock and he's not sure if he can cry out anymore. There's a _super soldier assassin_ in the same room as him. That guy is supposed to be in hiding. Where _are_ they? They aren't in New York, right? That would be stupid. The only people in between the Avengers and Bucky that aren't wanted by a government is him, Happy, May and Pepper.

"Good," Happy says grumply, then pulls his weapon back, "I'm going to murder the next person who wakes me up at three AM for nothing." He mutters under his breath.

Bucky rolls his eyes in answer to the man's comment and spins the long dagger before shoving it into his boot and pockets the pistol. Happy glowers angrily, then runs a hand through his hair. The man's _hair_ looks exhausted. Bucky moves forward a few steps and Peter tenses slightly May runs a hand across his back and Bucky rests a hand on May's

"You should get some rest." He says. His voice is a little deeper than Peter was expecting.

And—wait.

No.

That's _really_ not what Peter wants. Peter needs her steady presence right now or he's going to lose his mind. Twice! Two times lost! How someone can go mad twice is beyond him, but Peter will successfully do it. He can't handle this by himself and he _needs_ something familiar.

He needs his aunt.

Don't—

May shakes her head, "I—I can't. Peter needs me and the hospital might call me for another shift and I can't—"

" _Mrs. Parker."_ Happy presses, his voice irritable. Peter squirms slightly on the inside, his exhausted mind and body protesting heavily, but nothing verbal escapes him.

"But—" May starts tossing her hair over her shoulder. It's hanging down and Peter can tell it's been a while since she showered.

"No." The Winter Soldier presses.

"I'm not leaving him—"

"We can handle it, alright? You haven't slept in over forty hours." The Winter Soldier insists. May's eyes flash with fire and she casts an angry glance up at the ceiling, looking betrayed.

"I can sleep later."

Peter buries the rouse of a panic attack.

The Winter Soldier leans down in front of May and sighs quietly, "Mrs. Parker, please."

Peter doesn't _want_ her to go, admittedly, but at the same time, if she needs to sleep, she should. _He won't be a hindrance. He isn't going to be inconvenience with a capital "I"._

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and May exhales softly and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, "I'll be back in a few hours, okay, do you think you can make it?" May asks quietly and Peter nods, though it's a lie. May pulls back from him and slowly rises to her feet, her posture singing with exhaustion.

Peter keeps sitting despite the pain in his abdomen. May flicks a hand towards Happy, "Don't leave him by himself, okay?" Happy rolls his eyes but nods and May glances at Peter again before leaving the room her steps quickly disappearing.

The Winter Soldier turns his gaze from her to Peter, his gaze calculating. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted her to stay here, but she would never agree to this." He says, his voice is quiet. Peter purses his lips together in confusion.

"...What?"

The metal armed-man stands, "You want to see Tony. Can you walk?"

" _What!?"_ Happy cries in outrage behind Bucky, "Are you serious!? He isn't supposed to leave the hospital room!" He snaps and Bucky turns giving Happy a look that silences him quickly. Peter doesn't see it, but whatever it _is_ is effective.

"He's just transferring. It shouldn't be an issue or more than a few minutes, I repeat my question: can you walk?" Bucky asks and Peter gives a shaky nod despite how sluggish his muscles feel. Bucky carefully grabs Peter's wrist in a slow fashion that Peter can track with his eyes and pulls the IV from Peter's elbow. The needle feels weird as it slides from his skin and Bucky turns to him and grabs Peter's hand swinging it over his shoulders apparently not stupid enough to trust Peter's statement.

Peter staggers to his feet his face twisting at the pain and sudden blurriness but Bucky steadies him easily. The ex-assassin is only a few inches taller than Peter so the height difference isn't severely awkward. The two move forward slowly Peter stumbling with his feet that don't seem to work quite right anymore.

The hallway is empty, but Happy's endless streams of protest, unfortunately, are not.

The walk is slow and aggravatingly painful, but Peter manages to bite his tongue for a majority of his pained cries, but can't quite catch the sigh of relief as Bucky pulls open a door about a minute after they started the trek.

Tony's room is lit brightly and Peter winces at it immediately trying to quell down his rising panic and focus on something else. There's chairs set up in the most awkward spots as if someone was trying to get the center of the room each time they pulled a chair in. Tony looks so still on the hospital bed that it startles Peter slightly. The man, for as long as Peter has known him is always doing something. Moving, fiddling with his hands, talking, playing with his hair phone— _anything_ but now, his pale skin is obvious. He isn't attached to anything but an IV and a heart rate monitor, but it still scares him.

May never mentioned what happened.

Pepper is slumped asleep in one of the chairs in a position that doesn't look very comfortable.

"What happened?" Peter asks softly, raising his voice as loudly as he dares.

The Winter Soldier is quiet for a moment and comes to a halt easing Peter from collapsing to the ground easily, "Ms. Tren poisoned him."

Poison?

Ms. Tren _poisoned him?_

 _Heart transplant._

Peter's blood rushes cold again.

The Winter Soldier frowns a little, "They had to do a heart transplant and then flushed what the could from his systems with...I'm not familiar with what they used, but he'll be okay in a few weeks. He's woken up about four times now. Well, semi-awake."

Peter just wants to curl into a ball and cry because everything is too _loud_ or _bright_ or to much to handle and Peter just wants it gone. Before he fully realizes what he's doing, Peter staggers to the hospital bed, pulling away from the Winter Solider and heaves himself onto it curling into a tight ball beside Tony's stomach, avoiding all the wires and tubes at the same time. The exhaustion is beyond a threat now, it's a fact, and Peter's going to act on it soon.

Being close to Tony though, somehow makes it all okay, somehow _better._ Peter feels safe for the first time since he woke up. He knows that Tony isn't conscious or anything, but Tony won't let anything happen again and for that, Peter is grateful. Peter won't let it either. Peter sees the Winter Soldier takes a seat in one of the crazily arranged chairs, Happy grumpily doing the same near the door before Peter falls asleep, listening to the rhythmic pattern of Tony's breathing.

000o000

Tony gradually becomes aware of something warm curled against him and he fights to open his eyes and sees blurry haze for a second before everything snaps into focus and Peter's sleeping form is revealed to him. Someone appears to have tossed a blanket on the kid and Tony can't help the overwhelming relief as he sees him. Peter's alive, _Peter's safe,_ Peter is perfectly _fine._ Though Pepper had assured him to the best of her ability, Tony refused to believe it until he saw it.

How he got here, Tony doesn't really care for only that he's _here._

Tony ignores the deep ache of his chest and lifts his heavy arm to run it through the kid's hair. Peter relaxes to the touch. Everything about him seems to be tense and somehow _frightened_ and Tony doesn't like it. It makes him want to find the nearest suit of armor and kick anyone and anything.

Tony turns his head slightly and spots Pepper, as every time he's woken up as much as he can remember is sitting in the chair next to him. This time, though, the room is empty save the three of them. Tony lets out a soft groan to catch her attention or announce that he's in pain—he's not really sure, but Pepper clicks the phone she's using off and smiles at him.

"Hey," she says, softly and Tony gives a tight smile in response.

He glances down at Peter again before looking back at his wife, "How long has he been here?" He asks.

Pepper purses her lips together, "About four hours. Tony..." She pauses for a second, then gnaws on her inner lip, "Did you know about the nightmares?"

Tony squints in confusion, "The what?"

"Nightmares," Pepper explains, then sighs a little, "I guess not. Did you know that the Vulture dropped a building on him? I—I don't know. He woke up about two hours ago in a panic and Wanda had to force him to sleep again because we couldn't get him to calm down."

Pepper purses her lips together and closes her eyes before reaching out a hand to Peter's hair to take Tony's in her own. Tony lets her before they both rest their joined hands against the back of Peter's head. "You've both got a long road of recovery." Pepper murmurs and Tony shrugs in answer with a small nod.

"I know."

Pepper gives a grimaced smile, "But you aren't going to be alone."

000o000

Tony has often heard people say that the road to recovery is a long, slow process and honestly for him? He's never gone through something quicker. One moment he's on the bed, dying of boredom and pain the next he's on his feet and unable to stop moving. He drives the nurses to the brink of insanity, slips through the doctors with practiced ease, and manages to wander the whole extent of the Tower's medical before he was caught by Steve.

The captain had given him raised eyebrows, but didn't look surprised and dragged him to the nearest chair where the two awkwardly exchanged small talk for a few minutes before Steve had turned and admitted, " _Tony, I_ am _sorry about what happened to your parents. I wish I could have told you sooner...I didn't know how."_

" _It was probably for the best,"_ Tony had agreed, " _I'm not...I don't know. I'm still angry, but I guess…"_

Words don't come easily. But instead of of breaking into a shouting screaming match with Steve like most people would expect him to do, Tony and he exchange a further conversation before he goes to find a bed to crash onto.

Even as much of a handful of a patient as Tony is Peter, to some extent, is worse. After he could stay conscious for more than an hour or so he had insisted he was fine to anyone who would hear him and weaseled from the hospitals group wandering the halls of Avenger's Tower with something close to amazement and giddy joy.  
Because of Peter's condition, Tony had offered to let May and their kid stay in the Tower until things resolved. After some prodding on Natasha's part, Peter borrowed her friend and texted his friends. Ted? Led? Ned. _Ned_ and Michelle.

Did Tony know about the nightmares? No, he didn't, and after some wrangling, he and May manage to get Peter to agree to sleeping pills and Natasha, because she's unnervingly perceptive about things like this, pulls up a list of recommended therapists that work with teenagers. Tony called his own and asked if she would see Peter, and things sort of turn into a mess.

Peter comes back from the first appointment with May and refuses to speak with anyone or leave the room he was sharing with May.

The only reason that Tony managed to drag him from it (with careful avoidance of the doctor) was demands that he help him decorate the Christmas tree that Clint had dug out of storage a few days ago. It's December twenty third and Tony wants to pretend that everything is normal.

That the last month didn't happen and wasn't so much of a mess.

When Peter refuses, Tony grasps his arm and bodily drags him to the communal room to where Clint and Steve were arguing over the best way to set the tree up, Steve waving a instruction manual violently. Bruce was attempting to sort the branches out and occasionally giving the two a glance his expressions just as easily readable as Tony remembers them being. The sight was so familiar that Tony's heart had ached with just how much he missed this—living in the Tower with them. Just... _them._

Wanda's laughter had rung up followed quickly by Natasha's, May's and Pepper's as the women separated various ornaments. The entire process took maybe two hours and by the end he and Peter were slumped against the couch, exhausted the other's teasing them about their "wimpiness" Peter had grabbed some of the cranberry-popcorn-train-thing-that-Tony-can't-remember-the-name-of and threw it at their faces as Tony high-fiving him exhaustively a moment later with a cackle of laughter.

The mess is hard to clean, but Peter's laughter is worth it.

On Christmas night after spending a large majority of the day binging movies and eating far too much junk food than is healthy, Tony steps onto the landing bay of Avenger's Tower folder clutched under one arm. The weather chill and Tony is extremely grateful for the warm purple jacket he snagged from Bruce before coming out here. Peter had disappeared from the celebrations nearly an hour previously and Tony had allowed him some space for a little bit.

Tony inhales through his nose the cold air sharp against his lungs, but he ignores it staring at the shape of Peter a dozen or so feet away sitting at the edge of the landing bay. His legs are dangling over the side and he has something on his lap that Tony is pretty sure is the phone Tony gave him earlier. He made it from scratch.

He had plenty of time between recovery and being forced into doing nothing by the bullies he calls teammates to build it.

Tony moves forward, not bothering to be quiet and Peter glances back at him for a moment. After a few seconds Tony reaches about a foot from Peter's back and stares out at the city below. The lights are twinkling happily towards them the clouds covering the smog.

Tony glances back at Peter's head and clenches the paper in his left hand slightly tighter. As he suspected Peter holds the newly gifted phone on his lap his hands lax as he stares down at an image blinking.

There's almost a full minute of silence before he speaks: "What are you doing out here, Mr. Stark?"

Tony's fingers clench around the folder and he walks forward, barely repressing a roll of his eyes in annoyance. "How many time do I have to remind you that it's Tony, kid?"

Peter gives a slight smile. Tony shakes his head and releases a sharp breath before whacking Peter on the head with the folder and drops it onto his lap as he takes a seat beside him.

Peter gives a yelp of surprise at the action and grasps the yellow paper on instinct before looking at Tony in surprise his eyebrows lowering in frustration. "Why did you do that!?" He cries in indignation. Tony rolls his eyes and nudges his elbow into Peter's upper arm.

"Just read it."

Peter shoots Tony a slightly wary look before he flips the folder open and Tony watches his expression carefully. There's confusion then his eyebrows shoot upwards to his hairline disappearing behind his long bangs. The Parker whips his head up so quickly to Tony he's afraid for a small moment it will swing off of his neck. Peter's hands are shaking slightly and it takes him a moment to get his tongue to work right.

"Are you serious?"

Tony nods and turns, "I am. May was pretty insistent. It was mostly her idea." He admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Peter stares down at the joined custody papers his brown eyes wide and sweeping over everything again and again. He turns to Tony and tosses the paper to the side before wrapping him in a tight hug so quickly that Tony gives a highly unmanly yelp before hesitantly returning the gesture. Peter's grip is tight and Tony holds him gently.

"Merry Christmas, Underoos." Tony says softly and rubs a hand along Peter's back. Peter gives a muffled strangle-sounding laugh, like he's holding back tears, before softly replying: "Merry Christmas, Dad."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! =)**

 **Fun facts about the story that you probably don't have to know:**

 **Ms. Tren was in chapter three. There's a line in there that says "a young blonde woman rams into her left shoulder" or something to that extent. That's when the tracking device was inserted ;)**

 **Loki has a cameo. I'm completely ignoring Ragnarok, so I mean, yep. Man in the elevator next to May? Loki.**

 **May originally died in the 2017 version, but I was like, "why?" when I re-edited and so now she lives.**

 **Anyway. Alright. Thank you guys so much for reading! You're amazing, don't you forget that! ;)**


End file.
